A look back: One year later

June 26th, 2012 was the scariest night of my life. 

That day and the days that followed changed me to my core. 

 If you missed the process one year ago, check it out here. 

Or here. 

Today, instead of remembering the fear I felt as I drove
from my neighborhood for what I thought was the last time, my heart is calm.
Instead of remembering the destruction that was left in the ashes, I am reminded of
the beautiful redemption that followed: the new life that is purer now, having been
refined and made new by fire.

"Behold, I am making all things new." 

What sweet truth. 

Prayers that have changed me [1]

As much as I enjoy blogging, I have spent much more of my life archiving things in a written journal.

There is something about using a pen and paper that forces me to slow down a bit &

be fully engaged in the art of documentation. 

My mom told me recently that I have kept a journal for as long as she can remember. 

I have not a single memory of a time when I wasn't keeping track 

of my thoughts, whether it be a quote scribbled on my hand [which I still frequently do]

or through my first online journal 11 years ago. 

[which is safely buried in the depths of the internet, 

only to be looked at when I need a quick ego demolition. Yikes.]

I have a box of old journals in my closet that I have written in throughout

my life, & it is honestly one of my most cherished possessions. 

One of my favorite things to write in journals are prayers. I find that writing

down prayers helps keep my wandering mind focused, & I enjoy 

looking back to see how God has answered each one of them- sometimes

in remarkable ways.

Since I've been lacking inspiration lately, I thought I'd come up with a new miniseries.
I want to flip through my old journals and find prayers, quotes, or entries that changed me.
I think it's important to pay attention to these things when I get caught up in the busyness of life.
That's where I am right now, & I think it'll be a good reminder that I am being continually sought by
a loving, personal God. It is my hope that these reflections will remind me of the dynamic,
exciting journey I am on.
  

Surprise

I needed to hear this today. Maybe you do, too.

"He was always outstripping his mercies with his own newly invented needs. His very power of enjoyment destroyed half of his joys.  By asking for pleasure, he lost the chief pleasure;

 for the chief pleasure is surprise. 

Hence, it became evident that if a man would make his world large, he must be always making himself small. Even the haughty visions, the tall cities, and the toppling pinnacles are the creations of humility. Giants that tread down forests like grass are the creations of humility. Towers that vanish upwards above the loneliest start the creations of humility. For towers are not tall unless we look up at them; and giants are not giants unless they are larger than we. All this gigantesque imagination, which is, perhaps, the mightiest of the pleasures of man, is at the bottom entirely humble. It is impossible without humility to enjoy anything- even pride."
-G.K. Chesterton, in Orthodoxy
["The Suicide of Thought"]

Restless

rest·less--

        Marked by a lack of quiet, repose, or rest.

----

I'll blame the rain that has been falling incessantly on Colorado since I arrived last night. I can count on one hand the memories I have of it ever being this rainy here. Something about the rain almost always leaves me contemplative & downright lost in thought at times. 

Or maybe I'll blame the book I'm reading [Into the Wild]. Something about a good, tragic story
 always leaves me reflective & again, lost in thought sometimes. It seems

these days all I've done is read books that leave me emotionally exhausted.

[I'm ready to move on to this & this.]

But if I'm honest, I know that neither of these things can be held accountable for the constant state of my restless soul. It is no new occurrence that I've found my heart wandering, & there are no recent happenings to blame for the fidgety feelings I've been having lately. I've always been a little bit fickle & unsettled, & frankly, I haven't a clue what to do with myself when given the chance to rest.

I've counted three times this week that different people have told me to rest. Those three times sit atop countless other times throughout my life when I've been told the same thing. It seems I
haven't yet mastered the dimmer switch for my productivity. I'm either on & burning
the candle at both ends or off & virtually crippled by indecision & lack of direction.
I've spent entirely too much time wishing for what's next & then standing on the
other side attempting to revel in the past that I missed out on in my efforts to move forward.

It's not surprising to me that, when I really think about it, all of this comes back to
the fact that I am impatient. I love & also hate that this lesson has been following me
for over a year now. But that's how lessons are. They just keep following you until you get it.

So here's to resting this week.
 Here's to old friends, a family that loves me, & the town I called home for 18 years.
Here's to enjoying the adventures without the fear of missing out elsewhere.
Here's to patience & trust that I'm where I'm supposed to be. 

The Non-Competition Curse

Recently, I read a quote by Donald Miller that got me thinking. He said,

"I'm noticing that my less competitive friends accomplish so much less than I do & are so much more content."

----

I thought about these words frequently during the past 2 weeks as I finished projects, typed papers, studied all night for exams, and prepared to finish my second semester of graduate school. In the world of academia, I often struggle to separate myself from the rat race that is academic success. In my heart of hearts, I desire learning over grades, but the system doesn't function that way & I fall into the trap semester after semester despite knowing that it isn't right. It seems like everything about how the world works points to a fundamental truth that success comes to those who work hard enough. The harder we work, the more we gain, & those who get to the top get there through dedication & effort. Basically, if you have enough desire, you'll fight hard enough, & if you fight hard enough, you'll win. 

 I've also thought about that quote in regard to other aspects of my life. Apart from academia, I've always been a little bit frustrated by my lack of competitive spirit. I've often felt torn between this idea of working hard for what I want, yet being patient & allowing myself to receive what God has for me. When I look at my life, I see seasons of passivity sprinkled with dedication which turned into an obsession to get what I wanted. I've learned the hard way that accomplishing things in my own time leads to more destruction than success. Manipulation is a corrosive trait, & the fight for control is one that I have battled most of my life.  Surrender is such a simple word, but such a difficult concept to grasp. 

It all makes me wonder. How hard do you work for what you want? For academic success? For relational success? Is it okay to not want to fight for something that isn't yours to fight for? I fully believe that God has the ability to transform & awaken my desires. I've watched him do it in my life. But I've found that the most receptive position to receive is with an open hand. & competition, in the right contexts, can look a whole lot like a closed one. It makes me think that Donald Miller

might have had something when he equated contentment to freedom from competition. 

Glimpses of Good

"You will have arrived, not when you are rich, but when the sunset stops you because you see its beauty again. Success is free." -Donald Miller. 

        There are few things that are quite as creepy as blogging about someone who has no idea that he or she is the topic of your wandering thoughts. But as strange as it is at first, I tend to write about people frequently in this way. I find joy in knowing that someone who I am writing about might recognize that they are woven into my words. I think everyone likes to feel special in that way, whether or not they are willing to admit it. I like sharing a secret with whomever I've mentioned through the use of just the right amount of detail for them to identify who I'm talking about, while remaining a mystery to everyone else. More than this,  I enjoy the freedom of knowing that the person I've written about will likely never read the words that I've written about them. Something about documenting those moments feels so dynamic, like the ripple of his or her impact is greater than he or she will ever know. It seems like the purity of the impact would be diminished if the person ever knew its value.

        Occasionally, the way a person moves me is by giving me a glimpse of the future I want. Be it an action, a statement, or choice made, it allows me for a moment to capture a picture of what I hope for. I love moments like these because they are so small, yet profoundly moving. When I think about it, I'd say I've learned more through these unplanned interactions than I have in any other setting.

        Yesterday, as I studied in a local coffee shop, I caught one of these glimpses. A homeless woman came in, loudly asking for some money & help. The room immediately felt palpably uncomfortable by this request. I'd like to think that my first inclination would be to lovingly respond, but being caught in that particular moment, I, too, felt uncomfortable. I hate that I felt that way, but I am willing to admit that it is moments like this that elicit my most genuine response. What felt like a very long 5 seconds of blank stares from everyone in the room as we waited for someone to respond was finally broken by a man roughly my dad's age.

     Everything about what he did seemed so natural for him, & I hoped in that moment that one day I might do the same thing naturally. All he did was treat her lovingly. All he did was treat her like she had value, by asking her name, her story. He walked outside with her, bought her a cup of coffee, & listened to her. She had a voice to him. She had worth to him.

    I spent the rest of the day thinking about this seemingly ordinary moment. This guy had no idea that he was profoundly impacting those around him. At one point, my classmate said, "That's the kind of guy I want to marry." I couldn't agree with her more. I felt compelled to mention to him that I thought what he did was really cool. By this time, he was deep in conversation with his neighbors, & it didn't seem right to interrupt. I wish I had, because the next time I thought about it, he was gone.

   So in the spirit of blogging about those who will never know it, I'd like to say thank you to that man.

Thank you for responding lovingly to someone you had no obligation to. 

Thank you for stepping up & taking a risk. 

Thank you for alerting me to my own distrust & cynicism.

Thank you for modeling a strength of character that I hope one day to have. 

Thank you for exhibiting the overwhelming effect of light in darkness. 

Thank you for showing me a glimpse of what is good. 

Beauty in the Ugly.

       

When I was in high school, I got really into listening to Sufjan Stevens. 

His song, "John Wayne Gacy Jr." always haunted me a little bit, but for some reason, 

I was strangely struck by its beauty. I guess I appreciated Sufjan's literary approach & bravery in writing about such a monstrous human being, & I guess I appreciated the overlap of two of my

loves: music & learning. I was taking abnormal psychology at the local university at the time. 

I remember learning about John Wayne Gacy Jr. in class, & then listening to this song on the way home- each time attempting to understand why a story so ugly could sound so beautiful to my ears.

       Much like everyone else, I spent today reading everything I could about what was happening in Boston. As the story unfolded, I felt helpless, sad, & somewhat sick thinking about everything. I hate that our world is so broken. I hate that people are so messed up that they can intentionally harm each other. I hate that I don't understand it. As I headed to a concert with some friends, we discussed the most recent unfolding of events. By this point, 2 people had been killed, many were injured, 1 suspect was dead, & the other was in custody. One friend said, "I really hope they don't kill him." I agreed, realizing later that I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. I didn't know if he meant that this man deserved something worse than that or if he genuinely didn't want another death to result from the death that already existed. I understood & hoped for the latter.  I found myself thinking about it off & on for the rest of the show.

        Tonight, I came home to an empty apartment, & for the first time in a while, I remembered that song. I have no idea why it came up, but almost instantly, my eyes filled with tears, & the final verse repeated through my mind. At the end of the song, Sufjan literally compares himself to the man who killed 33 teenaged boys, by saying, 

"& in my best behavior, I am really just like him. 

Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid." 

It's a pretty freaking creepy verse. 

But as I think about what has happened in Boston this week, & how I should

react, I am struck by the gravity of those words. I am by no way trying to 

condone the heinous acts of a serial killer or make light of what happened this week.

Clearly both have made a rather momentous impression on me. But it got me thinking if

I believe those words. Do I believe that sin is sin & I am capable of such horrific acts as

much as the next person? Do I believe that the same redemption that was washed me

clean is available to someone who's actions have such destructive, far-reaching effects?

Do I believe that there is beauty to be seen in the ugliest thing imaginable? 

I desperately want to believe these things. I claim to believe them in the calmness of

life, but I am really tested when I react to events like this- Events that break

my heart a little bit & expose the true me, which, I am scared to admit, sometimes

looks a lot like the things I claim to hate. I guess it's times like these that make me
thankful that I don't really have to understand much else besides the power of light to overcome
darkness. All I know is that darkness is darkness, & light has the power to overcome
all of it, if given the chance. 

-Laura

Reflections on a Year of Growth

“Rejoice, my heart. You’ve been made whole by a love that will not let you go.”

        Just hours before I found myself sobbing in his passenger seat, I had clicked “publish” to my most recent blog post titled,  “1095 days.” The irony in the documentation of our third anniversary on the day he broke up with me stole the breath from my lungs, but seemed eerily conclusive at the same time. For a moment, I almost appreciated how on-schedule things had come full circle. In that moment, I saw our entire relationship-- from the moment he bravely grabbed my hand, 1095 days before, to this conversation in his passenger seat-- flash before me. Despite knowing in my deepest heart that our expiration date had arrived, I remember thinking, “If he were to propose in this very moment, my answer would be ‘yes’.” I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

            The following days were a blur of crying-induced migraines followed by emotional numbness. I didn’t know it then, but the numbness would stay with me for a while. For the first time in my life, I was afraid to be alone & I found every excuse to be in a room full of strangers as often as possible. I avoided anyone who knew me, [who knew us] because tangled within my broken heart lived the fear that verbalizing our break-up validated its reality. Denial seeped into my bones,  & immediately, I began preparing for restoration. For 3 weeks, I waited for his call. I waited for his realization that letting me go was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, & I waited for God to just answer what I asked of him: Why wouldn’t he just fix things? I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

        I spent the next 8 months floundering in and out of frustration with my heart’s inability to heal, & if I’m really honest, still waiting for that call.  I dreamt of him every night for weeks at a time, and I feared each morning that followed because it brought the perpetual discovery that brokenness was my reality. Each day felt like the rebirth of sadness, devoid of healing. My heart ached like it never had before. I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

-----

Here I am, a year later. For the first time in 4 years, I watched April 8^th pass without any significant value besides the fact that the weather here in Nashville was the most beautiful it’s been in quite some time. The year that has passed since I sat in his passenger seat for the last time has been so different than I ever imagined. I dreaded this day for so long. While there were countless moments of peace and understanding, there were also moments when I genuinely believed I wouldn't know happiness again. But as each day passed, I slowly rebuilt my life without him, finding sincere joy in the process. I discovered the miraculous beauty of being honest with myself & others, and I began to taste the sweetness of redemption in a way I've never known before. I will forever remember this year as a time when I learned true surrender, deep healing, & the freedom of a foundational trust in the direction of my life by a loving, gentle God. I felt what I never thought I'd feel: This chapter is over, & it's good.

On this day,  I have more to be thankful for than I ever thought possible. As I reflect on the past year, I can truthfully say that I am falling in love with the day-to-day journey I am on.

 I know much about what can change in a year.

-Laura

Mental Health & Brokenness

“There are some who take anti-depressants and communion and there are those who think both are a crutch.” –Ann Voskamp

Last Saturday, upon hearing the news that Rick Warren’s son had committed suicide after a long battle with depression and mental illness, my heart broke.  My heart broke for his family & those who knew him well, & my heart broke for the realization of depravity, that death always seems to reveal. Despite our efforts to recognize the beauty that can result after it is over, death is never a pretty thing.

Humans weren’t meant to suffer.

Humans weren’t meant to take their own lives.

Humans weren’t meant to die.

           But as it often does, heartbreak reveals the disintegration of what was meant to be.  Hearts weren’t meant to break. But they do, & their brokenness mirrors a broken world that will continue to break, aching to be redeemed. On Saturday, I found myself painfully aware of my desire for redemption here. I wanted it now.

          When I chose to pursue occupational therapy, I knew that mental health would be a world I would become submersed in. Despite my habituation to the topic, hearing about these tragedies never gets easier for me. & I hope it never does.  As I first sat down to write this post, I wanted to talk about the broader scope of public opinion behind mental health. But after reading comment after comment about how this man’s death could have and should have been prevented-most lacking a shred of compassion or understanding for the complexity behind depression & mental illness- I changed my mind. I couldn’t handle the stigmas I found, the ignorance, or the lack of sensitivity for such a painful subject. My cynicism didn’t need the fuel. Instead, I found myself thinking about the bigger picture. Not everybody is depressed. Not everybody wants to take his or her own life. But everybody is broken.

He is.

I am.

You are.

Thoughts like this keep me up at night, but thankfully, that is not the end of the story.  All week, I’ve been thinking about the conclusion that is yet to come—the redemption that I feel my heart longing for, where there is no more death, longing, or pain.  My heart aches for it now, but I can rest in the promise that it is coming. 

“Light pried through the dark. A shaft came through the window like a lifeline.  & The birds sang, & we heard them.” 

Lessons on Patience & appreciating now.

Maybe I am a particularly oblivious person & I need all the hints I can get, but for some reason, when I’m learning a lesson, I am reminded of its theme e v e r y w h e r e. The conversations I have with people, the books I am reading, and even the media I am currently consuming all seem to point to the presence of whatever truth I need to learn. I appreciate it, because I am so easily distracted, that I often need more than one reminder of the important lessons that come my way.

            I wrote about it in my year-end review, but it seems that the theme so far of 2013 for me is patience. As I sit here on April 5, I can’t help but recognize that the lesson I was learning at the turn of the year is the lesson I am still learning. Even as I write this, the thought of “Aren’t I done learning that, yet?”  has fluttered through my mind once or twice. The irony of that thought’s impatience actually just made me laugh.  Nope, I’m not done learning patience, yet.

            Lately my impatience has manifested itself from the newness of spring and the signs of new life all around me. I am finally feeling the deep peace that was promised to me after the most difficult year of my life, (a post on this will come soon) & I am already experiencing the excitement of restoration and hopefulness of a new year.  But, I find it remarkable how quickly I exchange this fresh start for uncertainty and restlessness for my future.  Almost instantaneously, it seems, I replace hope with distrust and courage with fear. I find myself itching to make things work how I want them to, & a heavy discouragement settles on my soul when things don’t move at the pace or direction I desire them to.

            As prevalent as my impatience has been lately, I have found reminders of appreciating now more abundant yet. I am thankful for reminders that convince me of the beautiful simplicity that results from a patient lifestyle. Something tells me this patience journey will be a lifelong one for me, but today, I am happy to wait. 

Confronting the Lie

Two posts in one day. Sometimes I come across an article that I simply have to share.

This one discusses hardship [as most of the articles I've come across & related to recently have.]

It is beautifully honest & full of truth-

two things I deeply desire to be. 

Whether you are in a season that is difficult & dry, 

or one of fruitfulness & joy, this is a good reminder. 

Check this out. 

Why I don't hate Valentine's Day

Last year at this time, I wrote a post about why I don't

hate February 14th. I had no idea the year ahead of

me would be as crazy as it was, but as I sit here 365 days later, 

I can honestly say I feel the same way I did then. 

If you know me, you know I am just about 

as cynical as they come. 

If there is something to judge, I've probably judged it. I've

written before that this is one of my very least favorite personal attributes 

& I have been trying to work on it for some time now. While there is a list

of things I do not like that I will gladly tell you about,

Valentine's Day is not on it. 

I know you might be thinking that this is easy for someone in a relationship to say. 

It's easy to love Valentine's Day while clutching a giant stuffed [insert your favorite]

animal, & a bag of Hershey's kisses. & you're right. Most of the time, those who

love this day are in relationships. But this year,

-my first year single on this day in several years-

I can confidently say I still love it. I love love & honestly

the love of other people does not bother me. 

So on this day, I hope you feel loved & can celebrate its beauty. I hope

this Valentine's picture of my favorite coonhound at least makes you smile. 

New Day

It's been dreary and rainy here for a week now. 

I know this is normal for parts of the world, but my

sunshine-loving Colorado soul is missing the 300+ days

of sunshine we get yearly back at home. My first thought upon

waking this morning was, 

"I think I've forgotten what the sun looks like."

I immediately realized that this was a rather melodramatic

thought. But this whole internal conversation got me thinking about 

how momentary-minded I am as a person. 

When I'm sick, it's all I know. 

When I'm stressed, I can't remember peace.

When it rains, I forget the sun. 

By midday, the sun had dissolved the clouds & everything seemed new.
I even got a short bike ride in, which I've been itching for lately. Suddenly it felt
like I hadn't just spent the last several days wishing for the sun to shine-once it came,
it was all that mattered. I've talked about it before here, but I've been thinking
a lot lately about how quickly our perspectives, emotions, & perceptions change.
I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing, or even if I need to decide one way
or the other. But I do know that I am thankful for the newness that comes
with each new day. 

I claim this.

I'm not sure if I was expecting to feel different when I woke up in 2013 than I

did when I went to sleep in 2012,

but I do know that I woke up on January 1 almost exactly as I did the day before.

In fact, everything about the start of this year was eerily familiar to the end of the last.

It seems like the newness of the new year just isn't here yet. 

It's got me thinking about change & how sometimes it just feels 

so dang slow. As I sit here next to a box of tissues & a stomach

full of cough drops, I think about the times I've been really sick.

It seems like every time I get really sick, [a rather common occurrence for me]

 I forget what it feels like to be healthy. I'm just sick. & then one day I'm better.

The days in-between are usually a gradual process of healing, but all I know 

is that during those days, I'm not well. For some reason, it's really hard for me to track my progress. All I can focus on is my current state. 

That's sort of how I feel about this past year, the first 5 days of 2013, & growth in general.

One day you just wake up & realize that things have changed. 

[most of the time that you've changed]

but by the time you've realized this, the days in-between are a blur. 

The end result is undeniable; there was most definitely a change. But there exists

no monumental catalyst for the change; it just happens.

This is where I am. I know there is movement happening, 

but when I try to pinpoint that movement, I just can't. But I know one day 

I'll be able to. Until then, I've claimed this chapter for 2013: 

Psalm 40