And so I grew up in a world of humans
Where they told me this lie
And like a fool, I believed it.
They tell it to everyone.
Everyone tells it to everyone else.
And it shapes and forms our lives
Into everything they say it is supposed to be.
So many different ways
They communicate this lie.
Sometimes, it goes something like this:
"If you're not in love, you're worthless."
Or this:
"Being in love is what we were created for.
You will never truly be alive until you are in love."
The thing about love is that I am really quite fond of it. It would seem unnatural to have a disliking for it.
I think love in its most raw form is the most beautiful, breath-taking gesture in existence.
But then there's this:
"If someone loves you and then stops loving you, you become worthless, powerless, and naked."
Love is great. Perhaps I love it.
But these lies we keep buying
...they are a load of crap.
Because when we believe that lie long enough
It begins to create a hole inside of us --
A hole that we do not allow to be filled
By anything but sappy, touchy-feely, passionate in-love-ness.
And then that hole starts growing
And the longer we go without being in love,
The less we feel like a worthy member of society.
The longer we go without being in love,
The bigger the hole grows,
The more fervently we search for love,
The crappier we feel about being single,
The lower our standard becomes for a mate,
The less secure we feel in ourselves,
...the bigger the hole grows.
"If you're not in love, you're as good as dead."
"If you're not in love, you had better be looking for love."
"If you're not in love, then why are you here?"
Hey.
HEY.
Don't buy that crap.
You are independent and beautiful.
You are loved and you have a purpose.
You are worthy all on your own.
So shine in your singleness.
Fill that hole with family and friends and
Sunny days and soft melodies.
"So maybe there's a war, inside of me and for me and maybe my heart is the opposite of small. Maybe it's the opposite of cheap and empty and alone. Maybe it's sacred and enormous and wild." (Jamie Tworkowski)
Be free.
...and so I grew up in a world of humans
where they told me this lie.
Don't be a fool.
Never believe it.
"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.
God is love.Whoever lives in love lives in God,
and God in them." --1 John 4:16
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
To Everyone Who's Hurting
You need to know that you are not alone.
Several years ago during that junior high/early high school stage of life I got really into this awesome new organization called To Write Love On Her Arms.(twloha) Their mission is to reach out to people struggling with depression, self-injury, addiction and suicide. I didn't really know of anyone who was dealing with those issues at the time. At least, I didn't think I did. But it was a pretty cool, God-loving organization that made rad t-shirts. So I went for it, bought the sweet merchandise and visited their booth at Cornerstone. Then, pretty quickly, it got hip. Random preppy people were wearing their t-shirts and stuff -- people who, I assumed, probably didn't even know what the organization stood for. So, being the nonconformist that I am, I instantly dropped my twloha following.
Not long after my abandonment of twloha, I found myself to be struggling with depression. Legit depression, man. It's weird...how that timing worked out. Because during my time of darkest depression, I kind of forgot that twloha was there for people like me. I kind of forgot that there were tons of other normal people out there who were struggling with the same things I was. I kind of convinced myself that besides my mom and sisters and stuff, I was alone in this whole thing. Like...I was abnormal. Flawed. Possibly crazy.
The thing about depression is that there is a stigma attached to it. There is something about it that makes us feel ashamed of our pain. There's something about it that makes us afraid to tell others what we are going through.
For a long time when I would go to camp, I would hide the little white pill labeled "Effexor" in my hand and then secretly slide it into my mouth, because I didn't want anyone to see me and ask what I was taking medicine for. I was so ashamed of my depression. I thought people would judge me for it and look at me completely differently once they realized that the bubbly, spunky MaryBeth they knew was depressed.
I want to tell you something, dear heart. You are not alone.
I want to introduce you to a whole world of people who understand what you are going through and want to help you through it.
I wish someone would have reminded me of To Write Love on Her Arms when I was spending my days in bed and my nights in tears.
Recently, I've reconnected with twloha. Just reading their vision statement gives me hope and lifts me up on those occasional crappy days.
Soak this in:
-121 million people worldwide suffer from depression. (World Health Organization)
- 18 million of these cases are happening in the United States. (The National Institute of Mental Health)
- Between 20% and 50% of children and teens struggling with depression have a family history of this struggle and the offspring of depressed parents are more than three times as likely to suffer from depression. (U.S. Surgeon General's Survey, 1999)
- Depression often co-occurs with anxiety disorders and substance abuse, with 30 percent of teens with depression also developing a substance abuse problem. (NIMH)
- 2/3 of those suffering from depression never seek treatment.
Untreated depression is the number one cause of suicide, and suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers. (NIMH)
There is hope for you yet.
Whether you are dealing with thoughts of suicide or just get tired of those occasional crappy days, we are here for you. I am here for you. To Write Love On Her Arms is here for you.
You don't have to live like this.
You are not a mistake.
Depression is extremely treatable.
You need to know that your life matters.
You need to know that you are more loved than you can imagine.
You need to know that rescue is possible and freedom is within reach.
You need to know that this is not the end of your story.
You have a purpose.
You are here for a reason.
You were created for more than this.
Don't settle for a mediocre existence.
You can thrive.
Hey there, Sad Eyes.
Lift your head.
You are not alone.
You are not alone.
Wake up, oh sleeper,
Rise from the dead,
And Christ will shine on you.
--Ephesians 5:14
Several years ago during that junior high/early high school stage of life I got really into this awesome new organization called To Write Love On Her Arms.(twloha) Their mission is to reach out to people struggling with depression, self-injury, addiction and suicide. I didn't really know of anyone who was dealing with those issues at the time. At least, I didn't think I did. But it was a pretty cool, God-loving organization that made rad t-shirts. So I went for it, bought the sweet merchandise and visited their booth at Cornerstone. Then, pretty quickly, it got hip. Random preppy people were wearing their t-shirts and stuff -- people who, I assumed, probably didn't even know what the organization stood for. So, being the nonconformist that I am, I instantly dropped my twloha following.
Not long after my abandonment of twloha, I found myself to be struggling with depression. Legit depression, man. It's weird...how that timing worked out. Because during my time of darkest depression, I kind of forgot that twloha was there for people like me. I kind of forgot that there were tons of other normal people out there who were struggling with the same things I was. I kind of convinced myself that besides my mom and sisters and stuff, I was alone in this whole thing. Like...I was abnormal. Flawed. Possibly crazy.
The thing about depression is that there is a stigma attached to it. There is something about it that makes us feel ashamed of our pain. There's something about it that makes us afraid to tell others what we are going through.
For a long time when I would go to camp, I would hide the little white pill labeled "Effexor" in my hand and then secretly slide it into my mouth, because I didn't want anyone to see me and ask what I was taking medicine for. I was so ashamed of my depression. I thought people would judge me for it and look at me completely differently once they realized that the bubbly, spunky MaryBeth they knew was depressed.
I want to tell you something, dear heart. You are not alone.
I want to introduce you to a whole world of people who understand what you are going through and want to help you through it.
I wish someone would have reminded me of To Write Love on Her Arms when I was spending my days in bed and my nights in tears.
Recently, I've reconnected with twloha. Just reading their vision statement gives me hope and lifts me up on those occasional crappy days.
Soak this in:
-121 million people worldwide suffer from depression. (World Health Organization)
- 18 million of these cases are happening in the United States. (The National Institute of Mental Health)
- Between 20% and 50% of children and teens struggling with depression have a family history of this struggle and the offspring of depressed parents are more than three times as likely to suffer from depression. (U.S. Surgeon General's Survey, 1999)
- Depression often co-occurs with anxiety disorders and substance abuse, with 30 percent of teens with depression also developing a substance abuse problem. (NIMH)
- 2/3 of those suffering from depression never seek treatment.
Untreated depression is the number one cause of suicide, and suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers. (NIMH)
There is hope for you yet.
Whether you are dealing with thoughts of suicide or just get tired of those occasional crappy days, we are here for you. I am here for you. To Write Love On Her Arms is here for you.
You don't have to live like this.
You are not a mistake.
Depression is extremely treatable.
You need to know that your life matters.
You need to know that you are more loved than you can imagine.
You need to know that rescue is possible and freedom is within reach.
You need to know that this is not the end of your story.
You have a purpose.
You are here for a reason.
You were created for more than this.
Don't settle for a mediocre existence.
You can thrive.
Hey there, Sad Eyes.
Lift your head.
You are not alone.
You are not alone.
Wake up, oh sleeper,
Rise from the dead,
And Christ will shine on you.
--Ephesians 5:14
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Graduation Thoughts
Now, I'm not normally a country music fan.
But, as I was driving home last night I came across this song on the radio and I just had to hear it out.
Listen to it here.
Part of the lyrics go like this,
"You're gonna miss this.
You're gonna want this back.
You're gonna wish these days
Hadn't gone by so fast.
...You may not know it now.
But you're gonna miss this."
And so as I was driving, I thought about it for a little bit.
And I came to the conclusion that that song was wrong.
Because...
I do know it now.
Oh, baby, am I gonna miss this.
For the longest time packing up and going away to college has just been one of those little visions hanging out in the back of my mind. Like, you know, someday I'll get there, and it'll be sooooo cool. Yeah. College, man.
And then of course when people ask me things like,
"So how is your senior year going?"
I always give the cliche answer,
"It's going well. So ready for it to be over though! I can't wait."
Mmmm.
Am I?
Truth is, I don't know.
I know this is a part of life.
This is just how it works.
At some point, you move on.
But I don't think it really hit me until last night.
Like, for real for real.
I'm graduating in less than three months.
I've been in school for 13 years.
And in less than three months, it will all be over.
I'm the last child in my home to graduate.
After me, my parents will be done with the school thing.
All of their kids will be....adults.
As excited as I am to have accomplished this incredible task,
I'm gonna miss this.
I'm going to miss eating popcorn on Sunday nights.
And walking that stupid dog in the freezing rain.
Doing dishes three days a week, and fighting with my sister over whose turn it is,
Eating oreos while watching the biggest loser,
Driving to that church every Sunday morning at 9:10,
Sitting on the stage a block from my house and singing, dancing, crying, writing, thinking, praying,
Letting Mom know every time I get there and exactly when I'm leaving,
Texting Dad from across the room just to irritate him,
Attending every single camp event that occurs,
Going to Mimi's every week and answering the question,
"So what's going on in your life and what can I pray for?"
Watching Little House on the Prairie for history class, even though I hate it,
Putting my name on the blanks next to the chores I want to do off the list,
Running to Macomb,
Staying up past everyone else to watch the end of the Cardinals game with Dad,
Being the best baker in the house,
Watching stupid shows with Mom and Meg, like Animal Hoarders and You're Cut Off,
Hanging out with my favorite Jr. High girls every Monday at 6:00,
Dancing in the kitchen.
Yeah, baby. That's my life.
That's how I live.
I love it.
And I know this whole packing up and leaving home thing is just part of life.
And really, I'm super excited about it.
But this is not new information.
These are all natural feelings.
And I'm sure it's nothing you've never heard before.
I'm just gonna miss all this, you know?
But, as I was driving home last night I came across this song on the radio and I just had to hear it out.
Listen to it here.
Part of the lyrics go like this,
"You're gonna miss this.
You're gonna want this back.
You're gonna wish these days
Hadn't gone by so fast.
...You may not know it now.
But you're gonna miss this."
And so as I was driving, I thought about it for a little bit.
And I came to the conclusion that that song was wrong.
Because...
I do know it now.
Oh, baby, am I gonna miss this.
For the longest time packing up and going away to college has just been one of those little visions hanging out in the back of my mind. Like, you know, someday I'll get there, and it'll be sooooo cool. Yeah. College, man.
And then of course when people ask me things like,
"So how is your senior year going?"
I always give the cliche answer,
"It's going well. So ready for it to be over though! I can't wait."
Mmmm.
Am I?
Truth is, I don't know.
I know this is a part of life.
This is just how it works.
At some point, you move on.
But I don't think it really hit me until last night.
Like, for real for real.
I'm graduating in less than three months.
I've been in school for 13 years.
And in less than three months, it will all be over.
I'm the last child in my home to graduate.
After me, my parents will be done with the school thing.
All of their kids will be....adults.
As excited as I am to have accomplished this incredible task,
I'm gonna miss this.
I'm going to miss eating popcorn on Sunday nights.
And walking that stupid dog in the freezing rain.
Doing dishes three days a week, and fighting with my sister over whose turn it is,
Eating oreos while watching the biggest loser,
Driving to that church every Sunday morning at 9:10,
Sitting on the stage a block from my house and singing, dancing, crying, writing, thinking, praying,
Letting Mom know every time I get there and exactly when I'm leaving,
Texting Dad from across the room just to irritate him,
Attending every single camp event that occurs,
Going to Mimi's every week and answering the question,
"So what's going on in your life and what can I pray for?"
Watching Little House on the Prairie for history class, even though I hate it,
Putting my name on the blanks next to the chores I want to do off the list,
Running to Macomb,
Staying up past everyone else to watch the end of the Cardinals game with Dad,
Being the best baker in the house,
Watching stupid shows with Mom and Meg, like Animal Hoarders and You're Cut Off,
Hanging out with my favorite Jr. High girls every Monday at 6:00,
Dancing in the kitchen.
Yeah, baby. That's my life.
That's how I live.
I love it.
And I know this whole packing up and leaving home thing is just part of life.
And really, I'm super excited about it.
But this is not new information.
These are all natural feelings.
And I'm sure it's nothing you've never heard before.
I'm just gonna miss all this, you know?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
To the pretty little girl in the frilly white shirt:
You are probably way over me and my pitiful pleas by now.
You're probably way over everything to do with me by now, actually.
The problem is,
I'm not over you.
You probably think I should be.
It's been a long time.
Surely I would have moved on by now?
Here's the thing.
My intentions were never to move on.
They still aren't, really.
So what are my intentions?
Well, in the beginning my intentions were to wait.
I was going to wait the whole mess out.
I was going to wait until things ended with him.
And I was going to be there, gosh darnit.
When everything came crashing down for you,
I was going to be your shoulder to cry on.
And then we would talk it out
and we would both apologize and work through things.
And things would be on their way to going back to normal --
Back to how they were supposed to be.
So I waited.
And nothing turned out how I had pictured it.
nothing.
More than two years came and went right before my eyes.
I left school.
Found new friends.
Got a boyfriend.
Watched you walk out of our church
And never come back.
And you....
Well, I guess by that time you had found another shoulder to cry on.
I hope they were good to you, sweet girl.
Whoever you had, I hope they loved you like crazy.
I hope they still do.
I hope they stroked your soft, silky hair and wiped the tears from your eyes
And told you that even though it sucks right now, it will all be okay.
I hope the friends you have today treat you like the gem you are.
I hope you are respected and never taken advantage of.
I hope no guy ever tries to break your heart.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you're so so happy.
You deserve to be happy.
I think we all do, really.
I saw you last night in your frilly white shirt
and we chatted and carried on with smiles on our faces
and ice in our hearts.
I saved my cheesecake for you.
You know, the kind with the yummy cherry stuff swirled all through it?
Truth is, I really wanted to eat it.
But I could tell you were working hard, and I thought you deserved it.
Truth is,
It's been over two years
And not a day goes by when I don't think about you
and what is missing in my life and yours.
Each other.
Yeah.
Two years, girl.
And I still love you like I loved you
When we walked from town to your house
With melting blizzards in our hands
And warmth in our hearts.
I still love you like I loved you
On those bitter winter days
Sledding down the hill behind your house
And sprinting through your neighbors yard
As fast as we could
Because they don't like when people leave footprints.
I still love you like I loved you
When we played with the entire
Samantha American Girl Doll set
In your basement
And your pesky brother chased us around
That crazy little circle that your basement tends to make.
70%.
That's the number I'm going to give you.
Seventy.
You were seventy percent of the reason I left school.
I don't tell people that.
I never have, really.
How could I?
"So, why did you decide to homeschool?"
"Well, I recently lost my best friend in the whole wide world and things are really crappy between us and it's really just way too hard for me to go to that building and see her every single day and not be able to run up to her and hug her and tell her what's going on in my life and what funny thing the teacher said in last period and how fish sticks sounds lame today so we should go get subway and take it to her dad's office to eat. Yeah, that's why I decided to homeschool."
So instead I make up some lousy answer about
"a better quality of education that can be more specified to my interests and future goals."
Over and over.
Do you have any idea how many times I've been asked why I left?
And how many times your beautiful face flashed in my mind
Right before I blurted out my ridiculous rehearsed answer?
Hey, girl.
You're the reason I left.
It was too hard.
It hurt too much.
I missed you too much.
It didn't make sense.
It wasn't right.
Here's the thing:
I should still be at that school.
I really should.
My homeschooling education has been wonderful.
But I really belong there.
With those people. In those classes. Doing those things.
Unbearable circumstances changed the last two years of my highschool education.
I wish they had not.
In about three months, I'm going to watch you walk out of that red and blue tunnel
Wearing your graduation gown and a pretty little pair of heels.
And tears will silently fall down my cheek
As I think of how it should be.
And for a moment, just a moment, I will picture myself standing there right next to you
My name announced right after yours.
Walking in step to the sound of the graduation march.
As it should be.
As it always should have been.
I'm not writing this as a plea for you to return to me.
Things will never be the same.
I know that.
I'm not writing this as a super dramatic sort of farewell.
Because I can't promise you that I won't write you again.
I probably will.
Truth is, I don't really know why I'm writing this.
I just had some things that I wanted you to know.
I used to think that time healed all wounds.
Now, I think that time heals most wounds.
And some wounds will just have a special place in your heart forever.
You're probably way over everything to do with me by now, actually.
The problem is,
I'm not over you.
You probably think I should be.
It's been a long time.
Surely I would have moved on by now?
Here's the thing.
My intentions were never to move on.
They still aren't, really.
So what are my intentions?
Well, in the beginning my intentions were to wait.
I was going to wait the whole mess out.
I was going to wait until things ended with him.
And I was going to be there, gosh darnit.
When everything came crashing down for you,
I was going to be your shoulder to cry on.
And then we would talk it out
and we would both apologize and work through things.
And things would be on their way to going back to normal --
Back to how they were supposed to be.
So I waited.
And nothing turned out how I had pictured it.
nothing.
More than two years came and went right before my eyes.
I left school.
Found new friends.
Got a boyfriend.
Watched you walk out of our church
And never come back.
And you....
Well, I guess by that time you had found another shoulder to cry on.
I hope they were good to you, sweet girl.
Whoever you had, I hope they loved you like crazy.
I hope they still do.
I hope they stroked your soft, silky hair and wiped the tears from your eyes
And told you that even though it sucks right now, it will all be okay.
I hope the friends you have today treat you like the gem you are.
I hope you are respected and never taken advantage of.
I hope no guy ever tries to break your heart.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you're so so happy.
You deserve to be happy.
I think we all do, really.
I saw you last night in your frilly white shirt
and we chatted and carried on with smiles on our faces
and ice in our hearts.
I saved my cheesecake for you.
You know, the kind with the yummy cherry stuff swirled all through it?
Truth is, I really wanted to eat it.
But I could tell you were working hard, and I thought you deserved it.
Truth is,
It's been over two years
And not a day goes by when I don't think about you
and what is missing in my life and yours.
Each other.
Yeah.
Two years, girl.
And I still love you like I loved you
When we walked from town to your house
With melting blizzards in our hands
And warmth in our hearts.
I still love you like I loved you
On those bitter winter days
Sledding down the hill behind your house
And sprinting through your neighbors yard
As fast as we could
Because they don't like when people leave footprints.
I still love you like I loved you
When we played with the entire
Samantha American Girl Doll set
In your basement
And your pesky brother chased us around
That crazy little circle that your basement tends to make.
70%.
That's the number I'm going to give you.
Seventy.
You were seventy percent of the reason I left school.
I don't tell people that.
I never have, really.
How could I?
"So, why did you decide to homeschool?"
"Well, I recently lost my best friend in the whole wide world and things are really crappy between us and it's really just way too hard for me to go to that building and see her every single day and not be able to run up to her and hug her and tell her what's going on in my life and what funny thing the teacher said in last period and how fish sticks sounds lame today so we should go get subway and take it to her dad's office to eat. Yeah, that's why I decided to homeschool."
So instead I make up some lousy answer about
"a better quality of education that can be more specified to my interests and future goals."
Over and over.
Do you have any idea how many times I've been asked why I left?
And how many times your beautiful face flashed in my mind
Right before I blurted out my ridiculous rehearsed answer?
Hey, girl.
You're the reason I left.
It was too hard.
It hurt too much.
I missed you too much.
It didn't make sense.
It wasn't right.
Here's the thing:
I should still be at that school.
I really should.
My homeschooling education has been wonderful.
But I really belong there.
With those people. In those classes. Doing those things.
Unbearable circumstances changed the last two years of my highschool education.
I wish they had not.
In about three months, I'm going to watch you walk out of that red and blue tunnel
Wearing your graduation gown and a pretty little pair of heels.
And tears will silently fall down my cheek
As I think of how it should be.
And for a moment, just a moment, I will picture myself standing there right next to you
My name announced right after yours.
Walking in step to the sound of the graduation march.
As it should be.
As it always should have been.
I'm not writing this as a plea for you to return to me.
Things will never be the same.
I know that.
I'm not writing this as a super dramatic sort of farewell.
Because I can't promise you that I won't write you again.
I probably will.
Truth is, I don't really know why I'm writing this.
I just had some things that I wanted you to know.
I used to think that time healed all wounds.
Now, I think that time heals most wounds.
And some wounds will just have a special place in your heart forever.
Friday, February 25, 2011
I read this quote in Relevant Magazine recently.
"That your Evangelical parents got divorced at the same rate as the rest of society is one of the most blatant markers of Christian failure today."
Mmm. I agree.
How could I not?
"That your Evangelical parents got divorced at the same rate as the rest of society is one of the most blatant markers of Christian failure today."
Mmm. I agree.
How could I not?
And Moses Said...
"Lord, let your glory pass before me,
Shine upon me, face to face.
Let your glory pass before me.
Reveal yourself to the human race."
"I long to gaze upon your radiance
Your eyes must beam like stars
My heart yearns for just a glimpse
Please, let me see who you are."
And the Lord replied in a booming call,
"Ah, dear child, It can't be so.
You want to see my glowing beauty.
Because of love, I must say no."
"I love you like the morning sun
I love you more than the sky!
See, anyone who beholds my face
Will fall prostrate and die."
Based on Exodus 33:18-20
A Psalm of Life
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
I can see right through me.
Have you ever awoken and suddenly realized
that your current state of existence in life
is one that will, in time, become one of
those "worth telling" parts of your story?
You know what I'm talking about?
We all have a story. Our stories are our pasts.
They are what has happened to us,
what we have suffered, endured, overcome, and survived.
Falling on my knees and giving my life to God is part of my story.
But so is the utter heartbreak that accompanied losing my lifelong best friend.
These are the things that mold us and form us into the beautiful souls that we are.
So, like I was saying...
I've never realized before that what was currently happening
would eventually become a substantial part of my story.
I've never looked at what I was going through and thought,
"Yeah, this will be part of what I will tell people when they ask to hear my story."
Because people will ask for your story.
Maybe some more subtly than others.
As for me, I long to know you more,
and I'm one of those people who will just ask you straight up...
"So, tell me your story."
What will you tell me?
You clearly can't tell everything.
It's only the substantial things that we tell.
The things that we know have changed us.
We only tell the parts of our stories that we deem "worth telling."
But do you ever see it when it's happening?
Have you ever been like, "this is going to change me."
Like, hey, the pain that I'm going through right now,
the heartbreak that I am battling,
the lessons I am learning,
this current crappy circumstance,
it will be part of my story.
I've never realized it in the moment.
Until now.
When you realize you're going through something
that will soon become a part of why you are the way you are,
you start to see things a little differently.
When you cry yourself to sleep,
you wonder if that part of your story will sound like this:
"I cried myself to sleep that night."
or like this:
"And for the next month, tears caressed my face each night as I drifted to sleep."
You hope for the former.
But know the latter is not out of the question.
And when people ask you how you are,
you actually find yourself weighing their level of care.
Because if that person did happen to actually care how you were,
you could tell them and rest in their warm embrace
until the tears passed and words of comfort had been spoken.
And then you would know that that person had now become
a part of your story.
And maybe the best part of knowing that your
story is being written right before you
is that there is hope.
Because you can see the day that it will no longer be the thing that sucks right now,
but it will simply be the lame time that I went through that made me this way or that.
And while living in it, you can glimpse ahead and see the time when it will all
be a thing of the past. You can see that you will survive it.
And that really, really, it will all be okay.
You can take a deep breath,
turn your eyes toward the shining sun,
and with every ounce of strength you have left,
gently whisper,
This, too, shall pass.
that your current state of existence in life
is one that will, in time, become one of
those "worth telling" parts of your story?
You know what I'm talking about?
We all have a story. Our stories are our pasts.
They are what has happened to us,
what we have suffered, endured, overcome, and survived.
Falling on my knees and giving my life to God is part of my story.
But so is the utter heartbreak that accompanied losing my lifelong best friend.
These are the things that mold us and form us into the beautiful souls that we are.
So, like I was saying...
I've never realized before that what was currently happening
would eventually become a substantial part of my story.
I've never looked at what I was going through and thought,
"Yeah, this will be part of what I will tell people when they ask to hear my story."
Because people will ask for your story.
Maybe some more subtly than others.
As for me, I long to know you more,
and I'm one of those people who will just ask you straight up...
"So, tell me your story."
What will you tell me?
You clearly can't tell everything.
It's only the substantial things that we tell.
The things that we know have changed us.
We only tell the parts of our stories that we deem "worth telling."
But do you ever see it when it's happening?
Have you ever been like, "this is going to change me."
Like, hey, the pain that I'm going through right now,
the heartbreak that I am battling,
the lessons I am learning,
this current crappy circumstance,
it will be part of my story.
I've never realized it in the moment.
Until now.
When you realize you're going through something
that will soon become a part of why you are the way you are,
you start to see things a little differently.
When you cry yourself to sleep,
you wonder if that part of your story will sound like this:
"I cried myself to sleep that night."
or like this:
"And for the next month, tears caressed my face each night as I drifted to sleep."
You hope for the former.
But know the latter is not out of the question.
And when people ask you how you are,
you actually find yourself weighing their level of care.
Because if that person did happen to actually care how you were,
you could tell them and rest in their warm embrace
until the tears passed and words of comfort had been spoken.
And then you would know that that person had now become
a part of your story.
And maybe the best part of knowing that your
story is being written right before you
is that there is hope.
Because you can see the day that it will no longer be the thing that sucks right now,
but it will simply be the lame time that I went through that made me this way or that.
And while living in it, you can glimpse ahead and see the time when it will all
be a thing of the past. You can see that you will survive it.
And that really, really, it will all be okay.
You can take a deep breath,
turn your eyes toward the shining sun,
and with every ounce of strength you have left,
gently whisper,
This, too, shall pass.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Reflections Of a Flame-Engulfed Day
Sometimes God shows up through His people.
I think it's probably supposed to be that way.
That's probably how He intended it.
Sometimes His generosity and love overflow from His children unto....me.
I walked out of church this morning with nearly $3,000 of various bills
and checks in my hand to be used for a a number of purposes.
That money was needed.
God's love overflowed through His people today.
Maybe you don't really realize how much people care and love
until they are given the opportunity to care and love abundantly.
And I know they care and love because of Jesus.
Because He cares and loves, too.
I just know it.
Today was a really crappy day.
And maybe tomorrow will be, too.
But through it all, I know this much:
God shows up.
He loves.
He gives.
He cares.
He provides.
And so do His people.
Never doubt that.
Never.
Not for one second.
I think it's probably supposed to be that way.
That's probably how He intended it.
Sometimes His generosity and love overflow from His children unto....me.
I walked out of church this morning with nearly $3,000 of various bills
and checks in my hand to be used for a a number of purposes.
That money was needed.
God's love overflowed through His people today.
Maybe you don't really realize how much people care and love
until they are given the opportunity to care and love abundantly.
And I know they care and love because of Jesus.
Because He cares and loves, too.
I just know it.
Today was a really crappy day.
And maybe tomorrow will be, too.
But through it all, I know this much:
God shows up.
He loves.
He gives.
He cares.
He provides.
And so do His people.
Never doubt that.
Never.
Not for one second.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Going to Africa Makes You 17 Times More Holy
At least that's the prideful thought that has been trying to creep into my mind lately.
I'm going on a missions trip to Ethiopia, Africa this summer with my sister. You can read about it here.
Conclusion: It's super easy to get prideful about going on a missions trip. Especially to Africa.
I mean, everyone knows that if you really want to be legit about serving God, Africa is the place to go.
Surround yourself with hundreds of orphaned children, poor widows, and starving families and you are pretty much in the gold mine of missions. It doesn't get much more holy than that.
God is probably looking down on me with a single glistening tear in His eye, expressing the utter joy it brings Him to see my holiness level raise so substantially. Oh, Africa.
I'm pretty sure going to Africa is just a single step below being a nun or a monk. Don't you?
And you know what the best part is?
Being holy in a way that seems humble. Like this:
"Hey MaryBeth, do you think you'll be able to help with VBS this summer."
"Oh, I would really love to. But...I'm going to be in Africa."
"Hey MaryBeth, what week are you going to counsel at camp this summer?"
"Argh! I'm so sad that I won't be able to counsel at all this summer. But...I'm gonna be in Africa."
(Africa. You know? Totally out-Christianizing you while you hand out cookies at VBS and make bracelets out of string with kids at camp. I'll be holding the feeble hands of poor orphan children.)
So, the confession is that I know everything I just said is totally messed up. I know that going to Africa does not make me more holy than you. I know that your summer outreach program 10 minutes away is just as important and just as lovely in the eyes of God as my trip. I know that is it not about how far you travel or how many people you witness to or how poverty-stricken the area is in which you are serving. It's about your heart. And it's about letting God use you, wherever you are.
But, I feel like this is something a lot of short-term missionaries probably have to deal with at some point.
I don't want to glorify this trip and make it look like we're the perfect little missionaries with the perfect little blog about how godly we are.
I want to share with you for real about what I'm going through day by day.
And today....going to Africa is tempting me to feel 17 times more holy.
Maybe I needed to voice it to realize how absurd it sounds, how totally twisted the entire concept is.
It's something I'll be praying about and working on.
You see...God's gonna be teaching us so much through this trip, even 5 months before we get on a plane.
I'm going on a missions trip to Ethiopia, Africa this summer with my sister. You can read about it here.
Conclusion: It's super easy to get prideful about going on a missions trip. Especially to Africa.
I mean, everyone knows that if you really want to be legit about serving God, Africa is the place to go.
Surround yourself with hundreds of orphaned children, poor widows, and starving families and you are pretty much in the gold mine of missions. It doesn't get much more holy than that.
God is probably looking down on me with a single glistening tear in His eye, expressing the utter joy it brings Him to see my holiness level raise so substantially. Oh, Africa.
I'm pretty sure going to Africa is just a single step below being a nun or a monk. Don't you?
And you know what the best part is?
Being holy in a way that seems humble. Like this:
"Hey MaryBeth, do you think you'll be able to help with VBS this summer."
"Oh, I would really love to. But...I'm going to be in Africa."
"Hey MaryBeth, what week are you going to counsel at camp this summer?"
"Argh! I'm so sad that I won't be able to counsel at all this summer. But...I'm gonna be in Africa."
(Africa. You know? Totally out-Christianizing you while you hand out cookies at VBS and make bracelets out of string with kids at camp. I'll be holding the feeble hands of poor orphan children.)
So, the confession is that I know everything I just said is totally messed up. I know that going to Africa does not make me more holy than you. I know that your summer outreach program 10 minutes away is just as important and just as lovely in the eyes of God as my trip. I know that is it not about how far you travel or how many people you witness to or how poverty-stricken the area is in which you are serving. It's about your heart. And it's about letting God use you, wherever you are.
But, I feel like this is something a lot of short-term missionaries probably have to deal with at some point.
I don't want to glorify this trip and make it look like we're the perfect little missionaries with the perfect little blog about how godly we are.
I want to share with you for real about what I'm going through day by day.
And today....going to Africa is tempting me to feel 17 times more holy.
Maybe I needed to voice it to realize how absurd it sounds, how totally twisted the entire concept is.
It's something I'll be praying about and working on.
You see...God's gonna be teaching us so much through this trip, even 5 months before we get on a plane.
Complaining About Not Being Fed At Church
I'm not talking about cookies. I'm talking about that "holy spiritual hunger" that we should apparently all come to church with. "I want to be filled. I want to be fed." Isn't that pretty much what we look for in a church? A place that will feed us spiritually. And when we don't get fed -- because we rarely do -- we complain.
"I've been visiting some other churches, I'm just not getting fed here."
"I really want to receive as much as I can from God and I just feel like that's not happening here."
It's a pretty holy way to go about complaining, I'd say.
It sounds really God-like and utterly Christian.
But hey, don't worry. This isn't a condemnation post.
I am just as guilty of this as the next guy. Maybe more so. I spent three months bouncing from church to church looking to be filled, only to find myself right back at the same church I started, hungrier than when I had begun.
Here's the point I'm getting at:
I'm perfectly happy to spoon-feed my one year old. But, if I'm still spoon-feeding him when he's five, we've got a problem. Here's a fork. Feed yourself. -- Jonathan Acuff
Maybe I don't really know exactly what all that means. But it sounded pretty legit. Like something I should probably share. So I did.
"I've been visiting some other churches, I'm just not getting fed here."
"I really want to receive as much as I can from God and I just feel like that's not happening here."
It's a pretty holy way to go about complaining, I'd say.
It sounds really God-like and utterly Christian.
But hey, don't worry. This isn't a condemnation post.
I am just as guilty of this as the next guy. Maybe more so. I spent three months bouncing from church to church looking to be filled, only to find myself right back at the same church I started, hungrier than when I had begun.
Here's the point I'm getting at:
I'm perfectly happy to spoon-feed my one year old. But, if I'm still spoon-feeding him when he's five, we've got a problem. Here's a fork. Feed yourself. -- Jonathan Acuff
Maybe I don't really know exactly what all that means. But it sounded pretty legit. Like something I should probably share. So I did.
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