I Am...

It is difficult to imagine correctly how one’s life will go when there are so many unknown variables that are sure to come into the mix. My process of becoming who I am has not given me the experiences I always imagined, but I am who I am without apologizing for it and I am thankful for what I have. There have been struggles and obstacles that I did not account for as well as joys and blessings that I did not expect. Back then, I did not quite know who I am, but now I do.

I am against the grain. I am not what most people perceive me to be. Many people think too soon that they have me figured out or they give up when they think it’s taking too long and I think they miss out by walking away. I am rougher around the edges than most others see. I am not bragging when I say that I am very complicated. Only the ones who really invest, dig and persevere in getting to know me can truly understand me. Not a lot of people have enough patience for this though.

I am not the sweet social butterfly, admired by all. I am not an instant best-friend-maker. I only have energy for a few, deep friendships. Any shallow relationships wear me out. I am attracted to the outcast and the loner. Not a lot of people would guess that I relate better with them because I often feel the same. Shallow, girly chit-chat makes me gag and want to say something to pop their bubble. I do this a lot, even though I know that I probably shouldn’t. I have no respect for girls who have to pathetically flirt with guys in order to be their friends and I have absolutely no respect for the guys who encourage them by giving them all their attention. However, on a friendship scale, I relate with guys much better than I do with girls.

I am not the girl that beats off amazing guys with a stick. I am usually “the friend.” I am primarily attracted to jerks because I always feel a pathetic need to save them. I have always been told that I am marriage-material, not dating-material. I have a high standard because I know exactly what I am looking for and I would rather be alone while waiting for the right one than date around just to feel wanted. However, there was a time when I did not feel that way and now I regret all the losers I have wasted my time with. 

I am never the one with a clever phrase always at the tip of my tongue. I say awkward things and think of the perfect thing I could have said later. I have been the brunt of rumors. I have hurt people. I have rubbed people the wrong way. I am repelled by sicky-sweet people because I cannot relate. I do things out of spite. I am a realist. I get a sick pleasure out of bursting people’s bubbles. I am way too serious deep down. I am not trashy, but I confuse people because I thrive on being edgy, weird and shocking. If I could, my hair would always be like a rainbow and I would wear my leopard-print pants all over the place. I wear make-up to the point where people always ask why I’m dressed up. I’m really just putting on my lipstick so I can feel ready for the day, even if it involves staying home. 

I am hot pink and black. I am brown and blue and green. I am silver, not gold. I am blue lipstick. I am nomad. I am written words. I am dark chocolate. I am underdog. I am ocean waves. I am romantic drama. I am heroic action film with an epic conclusion. I am fantasy. I am windblown palm trees in the sun. I am overcast skies and rain. I am wind. I am yellow Plymouth Prowler. I am fufu coffee. I am ripped jeans. I am fast driver in the country. I am classic literature. I am heart-filled instrumental music. I am loyalty. I am rose. I am imagination. I am smell of pine in the morning. I am spaghetti. I am mud fight. I am saint. I am imperfect. I am Joan of Arc. I am Audrey Hepburn. I am Tobymac. I am C.S. Lewis. I am nostalgia. I am goodbye kisses. I am loving hands. I am loud music.

Ten Years Since "a day that will live in infamy..."

Ten years ago today became “a day that will live in infamy” as our country was attacked on its own soil. Countless lives were lost as people were following daily routines that never should have brought them to death. A modern version of Pearl Harbor surprise was enacted as I slept away safe in my bed. I was twelve years old and I had never even heard of the World Trade Center.

Now, that day is an unmistakable monument in our history. Songs have been written, films have been made and policies have been changed. The war continues on as we battle the evil manifestations of the pure evil that wreaks havoc and wages war within the spiritual realm. We can never be free of witnessing the evil that surrounds us in this world until the day that our King returns to vanquish the enemy.

I have to say, though, that there is such a joy and peace in seeing the increased patriotism we share. Patriotism is one of the ten things that can really make me cry. Through all the years of watching television programs, listening to interviews, seeing pictures, reading articles and hearing stories, our unique sense of patriotism has become so beautiful to me. For one, after all the civil warring and discrimination, seeing our diverse country come together in a time of grief becomes all the more moving and precious.

Patriotism is hope because it brings us together when hopelessness would surely tear us apart. Patriotism is peace because it gives us a reverence for the relationships in our lives and works to dissolve discord. Patriotism is justice because it involves standing up for what is right and fighting for the ones we love. (Peace and fighting…I know, that sounds like a contradiction, but it brings peace among us so we can stick together and we fight the attacker in defense.)

Patriotism contains stories in which personal experience is shared and souls are bonded. Stories in which we glimpse the good that is worth fighting for and the contrasting side that we must constantly choose to resist. We find stories of sacrifice and separation, heroes and villains, love and heartache, courage and honor.

Patriotism makes me cry because the stories I have heard about that day ten years ago are the stories that only seem to exist in fiction. A lot of times I feel like the world has become so black that all is lost and I should not even put in the effort of spreading the light. But that is exactly what the enemy wants…for us to stop trying. To conclude that all is lost, so why even bother? No! We must bother!

It is so good to see that there is still goodness, honor and sacrifice in this world. That these things exist in regular people today and have not been reduced simply to the characteristics of a fairy tale. That there are people who can still love their fellow man and risk their lives for someone they have never met. I cannot express how deeply moving it is to me...all of the rebuilding and the monuments erected. The firefighters that lined the streets of New York in respect as the Ladder 3 fire truck was driven to be placed in the memorial center on the site of ground zero. All of the time, thought and effort taken to honor and remember those that were lost...it's so beautiful.

My pastor (who was once in the Navy) mentioned today that we love our soldiers, policemen and firefighters because they exemplify these characteristics that Christ possesses. He is our Rescuer filled with love, honor, goodness, courage and sacrifice. We must endure the experiences of death that go on around us every day, but we can rest assured in the fact that He has won the power over death. He has already conquered the enemy and will, one day, wipe out death once and for all. He will have the victory and the ultimate enemy will be defeated.

Until then, we continue to honor the memory of those we lost ten years ago. We must continue to pray for the families as they know all too well the pain that death brings and still suffer from the loss of their loved ones. We honor the memory of all the soldiers, policemen and firefighters that have given up their lives to save others as a result of this horrific attack on our country.

We will never forget. And He will be victorious. He will make all things new.

“Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives.” -Hebrews 2:14-15





The projection of the newly completed World Trade Center and 9/11 Memorial.

31 Journals

Yesterday, I finished my thirty-first journal since I was eleven years old, beginning early in the year 2000. I have spent eleven and a half years of my life as a dedicated writer, and that’s not counting the sporadic fiction I have written since the first grade.

I just spent about half an hour organizing and recounting them. Some of my journals are pretty sizable and others…not so much. Some of the entries were neatly written and others were written in a messy rush. Some were in exquisite covers with actual flowers pressed into the thick paper. Others were composition notebooks. Many of them were gifts and some I chose myself from a bookstore. All of the dates allowed for me to put them in order.

Except for my very first journal, they were all written in cursive. I read quite a bit from the second journal. It actually did some good for me to read from it. I found it surreal to visit that girl again. She was so innocent. Such a big dreamer with a genuine and childlike love for Jesus. She had much simpler things to write about and a much more limited understanding of the world. Even back then, she just wanted to please God and make her family proud…and she had crushes on way too many boys.

Most of it was so long ago that I was pleasantly surprised with much of what I read. I hadn’t remembered that I had included a few pictures in one of the journals. I was reminded of events and rediscovered how I had felt about them. I got a glimpse into how everyday life used to be for me.

But then, in contrast, I also felt so much of it coming back to me that I vividly remember writing what I wrote on the day that I wrote it. I came across one entry about my dog that I grew up with, Dodger. He was always so vicious towards other dogs because, before we had gotten him, he had spent his first year around a couple of big, mean dogs who constantly tormented him. I wrote about our attempt to have him meet my aunt and uncle’s new puppy, Rusty. Dodger tried to bite Rusty.

As I grew older, I began to write about more serious things. In my progression, I reached a point where I realized that I was writing to no one really. If I could be writing to anyone at all, I should be writing to the Lord. After all, He knows me most intimately and, by addressing my most intimate writings to Him, I am actively taking part in deepening my intimacy with Him. So then, it’s not a one-way relationship and I can train myself, within the privacy of my thoughts, to shift my focus from being all about me to thinking of Him and others. Now, my journal entries are prayers.

I am so thankful for these personal, hand-written records of my life. In recent years, I have been disappointed to find that I have actually blocked out a lot of memories from my growing up years. Although I certainly did not write about everything (I skipped some weeks pretty often), I am glad that I can look back and remember where I have come from and have those things there with me as I discover where I am going.

Stronger

It has been exactly four weeks since I posted my last blog. I have been working on two other entries but I just haven’t felt moved to post them. With all this time gone by, many things have happened and I have been overwhelmed with all the topics I could write about. Some things have been difficult, both emotionally and spiritually taxing. Other things have been fabulous, filled with unbelievable joys and amazing blessings. I will probably have to write more than one blog to share the most important things…but here is one.

For a couple of those weeks, memories of an old and familiar sort came slipping back into the forefront of my mind. It’s funny, when you remember something that you never actually forgot, just how the present events of your life can change the flavor of those memories and readjust the light by which you see them. The present experiences can shed a new light on the past, changing and deepening our understanding of who we are today. Why do we the things we do? Why do we see the world the way we see it? Why do we relate and interact with others in the manner that we do? It all goes together.

These memories have occasionally produced a grieving process in me over the way my family has been. However, this time I did not grieve over those lost family dynamics that I always longed for, simply for the sake of having those loving, ideal relationships that I had the “right” to enjoy like so many of my friends did with their families. No. This time, I had to grieve over the way I have turned out as a result of those relational deprivations.

There are so many things I do not like about myself, things that would not exist in me if things had been different. Personal struggles and negative traits that I have acquired as a result of things being the way they were. I know if it wasn’t this set of issues it would be something else, but I kept thinking that “something else” would have been made up of normal, easier issues. And yes, I used the word normal. There IS such a thing as normal in such instances.

I have been thinking of a certain song, and lately coming across, multiple times, the Bible verses it is based on. Don’t worry about your life ‘cause if you hold it too close you’ll lose it. (Rebecca St. James) I have found that I really haven’t been holding on too tightly to things that I have in my life, but things that I do not have. I have been holding onto my “right” to have had a whole and close family. My “right” to be emotionally secure. My “right” to have healthy relational skills.

These issues are the things I struggle with about myself now. Usually I don’t worry about these things this much but they became much more apparent and particularly difficult all at once and they overwhelmed me. I was so frustrated that I thought, “If these things in my past had gone right then I wouldn’t be dealing with these stupid issues now. I wouldn’t be so emotionally unstable and relationally handicapped. I wouldn’t be so awkward, insecure and complicated.”

Most significantly, my struggle traces back to this fact: certain hurtful things that occurred in my family, during my growing up years, are what planted the negative seeds deep inside me that resulted in the most crucial struggle I have in my relationship with God now. My perception of Him has been so wrong, but it has been hard to see anything else when this image of Him has always been the primary view I have been exposed to. I know what the Bible says about Him and what His character is really like, but I have not operated on default as if I believe that. I have automatically interacted with Him as though He were entirely different from what I know Him to be.

Although I know He forgives me, I behave as if He will not take me back without holding my sin against me and making me feel guilty for it. When I have made even the slightest mistake, my first gut-reaction has been to run away and cower in fear because, surely, at the snap of a finger, He would abandon His approving smile and begin to scream at me in His wrath. When I ask for forgiveness, my perfectionist nature tells me that, because He can see so clearly into my future, He knows how soon I will commit the same act again, rendering my apologies pointless and unacceptable until I really change. I have believed that I am a second-rate child of God; that I just came along with the package deal and have no real purpose in the Kingdom of God. And I have believed that He doesn’t really care to know me at all.

These are the lies I have lived by from my childhood. I have had an influence in my life that has pounded these messages into my heart, not on purpose, but through hurtful actions and unmeant words. In addition, I know the enemy has been sure to reinforce these lies again and again. Consequently, I have been torn, mixing the God I know Him to be with the God I have projected Him to be. I have held Him at an arms length, not realizing that His heart has only been breaking for me to come to Him as I am.

“For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Your works and my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in secret and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth. Your eyes have seen my unformed substance and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.” Psalm 139:13-16

He doesn’t want me to go away and leave Him alone, to shut up and not be a bother. He loves me. He made me. I have tried so hard, for most of my life, to mind my own business and not rock the boat. To be invisible when, all this time, He wanted me to stop hiding from Him and beating myself up, because it is certainly not His intent to beat me up. His intent is to love me and use me for good things. We were born to be a part of something holy. (Stellar Kart) I am no exception to that.

Since this most recent grieving process, I am again accepting the way things have turned out. The way I have turned out. Because, thank the Lord, I am not stuck this way. He is the only One who has the power to change me.

No, my life has not turned out perfectly or even as clean as others I know. But it is all for His purpose. I see now that not everyone was made to deal with the same things that I have dealt with. I was chosen to handle these things. I was equipped to handle these things. Some people were not made to reach their fullest capacity of use by having a squeaky clean life, just as others were not made to reach their fullest capacity of use in having a heinously messy life.

Let’s face it though, everybody’s life is at least a little messy. No perfect story makes it onto the bookshelf. Life is messy. My life is messy. And although I can imagine some really great scenarios of how wonderful and perfect my life could have turned out, after allowing myself to run through some realistic alternatives, I ended up seeing that none of those alternate lives would be capable of all the things that my life is capable of now. I see how the life I have lived is more usable to God in the lives of others than the life I would have chosen for myself. And, ironically, those things that hurt me can be used, in many ways, to make me better in the long run than if I had been completely shielded from experiencing anything. They have made me stronger. They will make me stronger. He knows that this is gonna make you stronger, stronger. (Mandisa)