"So, what have you been up to since you were last here?"

Instead of simply enjoying my Christmas break and allowing myself to just veg out and let everything from my semester's classes fall out of my brain, I got myself a temporary job. Back in September 2008, when I was first taking classes at Grand Rapids CC, my dad suggested that I get a job at the campus bookstore because he knew several of the people that run the place. Over the course of three semesters, I worked there during six different rush periods. My main jobs were preparing and shelving used books and helping customers find their books. I got to do some other odd jobs too, such as fixing a printer (it was really just plugging something in) and delivering textbooks to a satellite campus. When I transferred to Calvin, I said my farewell to the Bookstore, (fairly) sure that it would be last time. Of course, the managers said that I was welcome to come back anytime, and since I need money for grad school, it seemed like the obvious choice for a job over break.

However, before I tell you that story I must tell you this story.
Fast forward to Saturday night: it was not a great night. I was feeling very upset about the fact that so many of my friends were getting engaged and married, I had just finished my last regular semester at Calvin, I realized that I wouldn't be seeing a lot of my friends anymore, friends my age were getting jobs and moving away...basically, I was feeling very lonely. I was sitting there, thinking it really couldn't get any worse, and then BAM! I discovered that my ex-boyfriend had just gotten engaged to his girlfriend. It's not as if I still have feelings for him, but it was mostly the fact that yet another person my age was getting married.

My mind started down its well-worn path. Is something wrong with me that all these other people my age (or younger) are getting married and I'm not even close to that? Am I unlovable? Do I need to change something about myself? And the thought that scared me the most: had God forgotten about me? Was He busy with other people's lives and He'd get back around to me once they were all set? Had I been placed in a holding pattern until God had time for me? I had certainly been feeling that way lately, given that I was a year (or more) older than almost everyone else in all of my classes last semester, I was single, and instead of moving away to take a job offer at graduation, I was moving back in with my parents to work a collection of odd jobs to raise money for more school.

On Monday, I went back to the Bookstore, bright and early. Actually, not bright at all because it was very early. Anyway, everyone was asking me how my time at Calvin had been and what I had been up to since last working at the bookstore. It was then that I realized that I had actually accomplished a lot of monumental things:
- I had graduated from college with a 4-year degree
- I had studied in Spain for five months and become fluent in Spanish
- I had completed 14 weeks of student teaching
- I had written a book manuscript (still working on getting that bad boy published)
It took being around a group of non-Calvin people to realize that my life was actually moving forward (sorry Calvin people, but it's true). At a place like Calvin, it's easy to feel like you're not forging your own path. Everyone there is serious about their academics, almost everyone gets jobs after graduation or goes on to grad school, and a whooooole lot of people get engaged by the end. I had two of the three, but somehow, I felt like I wasn't going anywhere because I wasn't three for three.

After experiencing this great revelation, I've been feeling better about myself and my ability to make something of myself. The employees of the Bookstore are so wonderfully diverse. Their goals are not to graduate and immediately get married, as seems to be the running theme at Calvin. Being among them again brought me back to myself.

Op-Ed: Tragedy in Our Time

It's easy to think, "What if it had been my kids in that school today?" I would be willing to bet that parents across the country, perhaps even across the world, are asking themselves that question. Many friends and acquaintances of mine are parents to elementary school-age children and I know that they are hugging their kids just a little bit tighter before putting them to bed tonight. Even those of us without kids can feel the pain that radiates from Newtown, Connecticut.

Here's a question that I bet none of you are asking: "What if it had been my kid who killed 30 people?" What if it had been your son, your grandson, your brother who gunned down 20 children, his mother, and then finally himself?

For as stunningly common as mass shootings have become, it never gets any easier to digest the news. Everyone feels helpless in the wake of such tragedies and it seems like the only thing to do is rally around the families of the victims and the community. The angry crowds demonize the murderers, clamoring for blood, especially when there are children involved. But before you join that throng, ask yourself this question: "What if it had been my kid?" Would your hate still burn? Would you still love him?

I am not saying that we should condone what Adam Lanza did. He made a series of decisions with devastating consequences. There is no excuse. But ask yourself this: what kind of suffering had Adam endured to this point that brought him to that school armed to the teeth and ready for vengeance? I have to imagine that Adam had been carrying around a lot of torment for a long time; so long that it distorted his entire perception of himself and his world. Was there no one he could trust? Was there no one with whom he felt safe?

It can be easy to blame parents, siblings, bullies, mental illness, medication, loose gun laws, and so many other things that contribute to the creation of the Adam Lanzas. Instead of doing that, though, we need to open our eyes. Adam Lanza the School Shooter was not made overnight. Many months, maybe even years, of going through life unnoticed and unloved brought him to Sandy Hook ES this morning. No one reached out to him when he was at his lowest. And now no one ever will have the opportunity to do so.

But YOU do have the opportunity to reach out to the people in your life who are suffering. You know who they are. If you don't, ask God to reveal to you who they are, He'll be glad to do it. People are crying out for help, each in their own way, and you have more power than you realize to minister to them. Just showing them that you care and that you won't leave can mean the difference between life and death. If you are that hurting person, don't keep it all inside. Reach out. Someone will be there to reach back.

Hug the children in your life tonight. Pray for the parents whose children were killed. And don't forget to pray for the parents whose children have done the unfathomable.

A Bedtime Story for Ella and Maggie

Even though it says Ella and Maggie, this story is for you too. No one is too old for a bedtime story.

[This story is based on a children's book called The Invisible String by Patrice Karst, adapted and personalized for two very special and beautiful little girls who just lost their father.]

Dear Ella and Maggie,
Back when you were born, God connected you to all of your loved ones with invisible strings. At first it was just your parents, grandparents, and other family members. As you grew up, every time you made a new friend, God connected you both with an invisible string. You're connected to your family, your friends, your teachers, and all the people in your life that love you.

These invisible strings are magical. They can stretch as far as you need them to. They can stretch across the house, to where your mom and your sister are, or they can stretch all the way across the world. The invisible strings never wear out and they never break, so they'll connect you to your loved ones forever.

The best thing about these invisible strings is that they can even stretch all the way to Heaven. That means that even though Daddy died and went to Heaven, he's still connected to you through the invisible string. He'll always be hanging onto his end of the string, so make sure you don't let go of your end.

It's going to be really hard for awhile. Some days, you might feel like your heart hurts so much and you don't know how to make it stop. You might feel really happy one minute and then something will remind you of Dad and that will make you really sad. That's okay. That's normal. In fact, it's really good that certain things remind you of Dad and certain memories come into your mind. You know what that is? That's Daddy pulling on his end of the string. Every time something makes you think of Daddy, that's him pulling on the string all the way from Heaven to let you know that he's thinking of you, that he remembers you, and that he loves you.

Whenever that happens, you should pull on your end of the string too. It will travel all the way up to Heaven and Dad will feel the pull on his heart and know that you're thinking of him and remembering him. God knew it would be really hard for you to lose your dad. It will be really hard to not be able to talk to him, to not be able to see him, to not be able to hug him and kiss him, to not be able to spend time with him. God knew how hard that would be, so that's why he connected you two with the invisible string. Even though you can't see him anymore, you'll still be able to feel him tugging on your heart, letting you know that he loves you.

So even though it's going to be hard for awhile, I know you can do this. I know you can make it through. You'll be able to see Daddy again someday, but until that time, I want you to remember this: Daddy will be with you every day, connected to you by the invisible string. I love you girls, all three of you, and I'll keep you on my heart and pray for you as long as you need me to.

A Prayer for My Third-Grade Teacher, Mrs. Sytsema

Have you ever heard/seen/received bad news and felt it cut you to your very core? You see the words and it's as if someone just punched you in the stomach. You feel a hurt so deep that you can't even properly locate it.

I have that right now. I logged onto Facebook this morning and saw that my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Sytsema, had posted a link to a carepage for her husband. He was rushed to the hospital last night with a scattered pulmonary embolism. As of the last update, he was in critical condition but had survived the night. I  closed my laptop and left for school, saying a quick prayer for peace and understanding. The Sytsema family was on my mind throughout the day. Paul works at Calvin on the same floor as the Education Department, and I walk past his office every Tuesday and Thursday on the way to class. Today, the door was closed and the lights were off and I just stopped walking as I was passing it. It was as if I had stepped into wet concrete that began to solidify around my ankles. I felt a heaviness in my soul looking at his dark empty office.
When I got home this evening, I immediately got on Facebook and checked Mrs. Sytsema's page for updates.

"Steph, we are all praying for you and the girls."
"We are covering you and your family with prayer and asking Him to provide the strength and comfort you need during this very difficult time."
"My heart aches for you Stephanie, and for your beautiful darling girls."

My heart plummeted. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. I could not believe it. 

He didn't make it. 

How do you come to terms with that? How do you even begin to process that? How does a mom explain to her 10-year-old and 7-year-old daughters that they have to say goodbye to dad now, forever? How do you hold yourself together? How do you hold your daughters together? How do you adjust to an empty bed? How do you get used to being a single mom? How do you begin to rebuild?

Mrs. Sytsema has continued to be a teacher to me, long after I left 3rd grade. I've returned to Grandville Christian to visit her and tell her what I've been doing with my life, what classes I've been taking, what majors and minors I've swapped in and out of my college career, how I've been feeling, what new antidepressants I've been trying...so many things.

About two weeks into my semester of student teaching, I stopped in to see her after school. After all of her 2nd-graders were gone, she sat with me and listened while I cried and choked and sobbed through the story of how my first two weeks were going. That time with her meant so much to me. It drew us closer together, closer than simply teacher and former student. And for that reason, I ache for her. My heart is heavy for her. My very soul is shattered.

And if I'm hurting this bad, how much more crippling is this pain for them?

If you're reading this, please be a prayer warrior for my beloved 3rd grade teacher and her girls. This is one of those times in which words are simply not enough. How do you put words to something you can't even understand? In times like these, I have to just close my eyes, visualize the person I'm praying for, and pour out my heart for them. No words pass through my mind because there are none. But that is where the miracle of intercession happens. Jesus understands our silent tears, silent sobs, silent wordless prayers, and I firmly believe that in those moments, He does His best work.

Mrs. Sytsema, this is my prayer of lament for you; that God will draw you in and plant in you His wisdom and understanding for why He took Paul away from you today. I pray that He will send people to you to hold you tight when you feel like you're falling apart. And most of all, I pray that you will be able to keep your eyes open and fixed on God as you wait for the sun to rise again. I love you.

TWoNC, Day 5: Uses Her Time Wisely

She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants. (31:15)

Check it out: this woman gets up while it's still dark outside to prepare meals, attend to the items on her agenda, and fill her provider role. Still dark. Oof. If this was the single item on a "Woman of Noble Character" test, I would fail. This woman doesn't waste her time. She knows not only how much time she needs to do all the things on her list, but she also knows how much time she needs to do those things well. She uses her time wisely.

Over my years of being a student, I've gotten pretty good at determining how much time I need to get an assignment done. Not necessarily to get it done well, just to get it done. This sometimes stems out of a time crunch; as in, I don't have the time to spend on doing everything well. But more often, it stems out of apathy. I often don't care about the quality of my daily homework like readings or journal entries. I know exactly how much time and effort I need to put in to the assignment in order to get the result/grade/understanding I want. This frees me up to use my extra time doing mindless things, like watching TV or playing FreeCell.

I am a staunch supporter of the "I need decompress time." But I tend to take this too far, sometimes sacrificing my homework for more "decompress time." Since starting this series, I've asked myself, "Is this what the WoNC would do?" The answer is...probably not. Does that make me feel guilty? Little bit.

Since I've built most of my undergrad degree on quite a lot of "work smart, not hard," my plan is to turn that around when I do my master's. I want to work smart and work hard. Use my time wisely and learn everything I possibly can. Ideally, all of my classes will be endlessly interesting, but I know that this won't be true, which means it will be even harder to apply this new mindset. Time to buck up, right?

The other implication that I see from this passage is the idea that time is finite and therefore we should take advantage of it. Each person has a finite amount of time in which to live, regardless of how invincible we all think we are. Admit it. You think that tragedy won't happen to you. I often think that way. I drive faster than I should because I think I'm a good driver and in control of my car and therefore a car accident can't happen to me. But all it would take would be another car turning in front of me to smash that illusion to pieces. 

Do I live as if I could die at any moment? No, because it would be depressing to live in anticipation of death. But do I live as if Jesus could return at any moment? Nope. I know I should, but I somehow always get too tired, too busy, too overworked, too something. I don't use my time wisely in the global sense. 

I guess my point is this: how much more could we be doing if we kept in mind the fact that our time is limited? How much more good could we do if we actively sought ways to brighten other peoples' lives? If your time left on earth was cut down to 15 minutes, would you spend it watching TV or saying "I love you" to as many people you could find? 

Well Andrea, when you frame it that way, of course it's easy to pick the I love yous. But do we actually live that way? I don't, but I want to. It's highly unlikely that someone will be around 15 minutes before you die to warn you. The next 15 minutes could be your last.

So the next time you find yourself with a spare 15 minutes, tell someone you love them. Surprise them with an act of kindness. Tell someone how much they mean to you. Tell them you're thinking about them or praying for them. Make their day. 

God, I pray that you would help me to realize when I'm not using my time wisely and to shift my focus to something worthy of the woman of noble character. Help me to remember that the work I do is not just for me, but for your glory too. I want to be a faithful image-bearer. I pray that you would use me to bring good to others, whether I have 15 minutes or 15 years with them. Amen. 

TWoNC, Day 4: Provides for Her Loved Ones

She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants. (31:14-15)

The woman of noble character provides for her loved ones. Not just food and clothing and shelter, but things without price: support, recognition, care, affection, affirmation, confidence, and love. She is a strong tower to the people in her life. She provides. She follows through. You can count on her. She takes seriously the responsibility that God has entrusted her with. The responsibility of providing. 

But the most important thing she provides to others is a reflection of God. His love shapes who she is, how she thinks, how she prepares, and how she loves. What God has given to her, she gives to others. She provides wholeheartedly even to the people under her authority, like her slaves and servants. They say that you can tell a lot about a person based on the way they treat their superiors. You can tell even more based on the way they treat their inferiors. This woman treats everyone equally; all as vessels to pour God's love into. 

I wish to thank all of the people in my life that have been providers. Providers not just of the concrete things, like food, new clothes, places to live, books, hugs, etc., but also the less tangible things like encouragement, affirmation, prayer, conversation, and love. Thank you for listening to God's nudge to provide to the people in your life. 

Dear God, I want to thank You for the people you have put in my life, both the ones that have provided for me and the ones for whom I can provide. Thank You for using these people to be the face of You when I feel like I don't know where you are. Help me to remember that You are the giver. You are the one who gives to me, not just so that can keep, but so that I can turn around and give to others. Help me to be on the lookout for those who are in need of something that I can provide and use me to show Your love. 

I cling to You. Amen. 

TWoNC, Day 3: Selective (plus thoughts on the presidential election)

She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands. (31:13)

The woman of noble character is selective. This woman in particular selects wool and flax, materials for making clothing, blankets, coverings, etc. She knows that she needs to choose high-quality material so that the things she makes will last as long as possible. Even if money was not an issue, she would still choose wisely so that her money is used most wisely. She knows that her decisions and selections have a direct effect on the safety and well-being of her family, and therefore, she does not make her decisions lightly. 

Women in the time of King Lemuel (the author of Proverbs 31) certainly had many decisions to make, but I think we can agree that women now have even more. We have to make decisions about money, children, friends, family, values, entertainment, jobs, education, political representation, religious representation, and so much more. How we make those decisions provides a direct reflection of who we are and what is important to us. You can almost always tell more about a person by their decisions, not their speech. 

Of particular salience right now is the need to be selective about the presidential candidate that one gives their vote to. I'm not normally interested in politics, possibly even less so during election years because all of the arguing and fighting is simply nauseating. But here's what sparked my interest in this presidential race: an article published in my college's newspaper, the Chimes. http://www.calvin.edu/chimes/2012/10/12/biblical-perspectives-for-campaign-2012/ (You should know that in the print version, the article was entitled "The Christian Way to Vote Obvious from Parties' Platforms." The online version's title is much more objective).

I won't rehash the entire article because you can just as easily read it for yourself. The foundation of the author's argument is that Governor Romney's platform is the one that Christians should support. Unfortunately, his argument is based solely on the issues of abortion and gay/lesbian marriage. It's true; Romney's position on abortion and gay/lesbian marriage is very Biblical. He is morally opposed to both and plans to pass legislation making them illegal. President Obama's legislation supports marriage for all and supports the woman's right to choose what she does with her pregnancy. 

Not only does the article not cover any other key issues, but it also skims over Governor Romney's shortcomings. After spending several paragraphs on what he terms "the Democratic Party's adopted agenda of the sins of Romans 1," he merely covers his back with a sentence or two about the fact that Governor Romney's administration is far from perfect. Since he doesn't give any specific examples, the reader would be entirely justified in concluding that the author does not actually believe this. As a journalist, he has to aim for at least a modicum of objectivity and those two or three sentences seem to fill his quota. 

It is news coverage and extremist propaganda that makes it so incredibly difficult to make good choices. Without getting too snarky or upset, I want to state my position on the two front-running presidential candidates. I'm not particularly impressed with either of them, mostly because neither seems to know that the word "that" comes after the phrase "The reason is," not the word "because." As in, the REASON that I am not particularly impressed with either of them is THAT neither seems to know this rule of English grammar. But aside from questions of language proficiency, here are the reasons that I support President Obama more than I support Governor Romney.

1. I do not support the act of abortion, nor do I support the act of marrying someone of the same gender. However, I do support the right of all people to make their own decisions, which is President Obama's stance. I have never heard anyone say that Obama supports the murder of unborn children. He supports instead the woman's right to make her own decisions about her unborn child. It's the same with gay/lesbian marriage: President Obama is clearly married to someone of the opposite gender, but he understands that not all people want to make the same decision he has made. 

2. It came out in one of the debates that Romney wishes to cut funding for agencies like Planned Parenthood that provide teenagers and young adults with condoms and birth control. Time for some math: 1 box of Trojan condoms costs $12.99 at CVS Pharmacy and you get 12 condoms. So about a dollar per condom. A bottle of prenatal vitamins costs $14.99 and you get 30 pills. That's about 50 cents a pill. Except that, ideally, a woman would take one vitamin every day beginning with the time that she finds out she's pregnant (so about 7 months' worth of vitamins). 210 pills at 50 cents each costs a person $105. And that's probably the least expensive expenditure for an expecting mother. Factor in doctor's visits, hospital costs, insurance costs, food, diapers...the list goes on. Just think: you could have prevented it with a condom that costs one dollar. Even if you used 3 condoms each time, the cost still doesn't even compare. The point here, again, is that one person cannot control the decisions of another. I've written about this very issue before: people are going to have sex no matter how many times we tell them not to. Personally, I'd rather have them do it and use condoms/birth control than do it and get pregnant because they couldn't get condoms/birth control. 

3. Governor Romney wants to funnel a larger percentage of the federal budget into the nation's military so that it will be so strong that no other country will want to challenge it. Now, in my experience, the person or people with the most strength and the most power are typically the most hated. Think of the school bully: he or she has control of the land, but no one actually likes them. I fear the same thing would happen to us. Governor Romney would not augment the military only to have it stay out of other nations' affairs. Otherwise, what's the point of such a strong military? Those billions of dollars could better be spent on education or programs to eliminate poverty. 

4. While Governor Romney's platform is strong on Biblically-based values when it comes to abortion and marriage, where are his Biblically-based values on caring for the vulnerable or being the voice for the voiceless? He's quite vocal on behalf of unborn children, but what about the poor? The struggling? The immigrants? As President, it will be his job to seek the good of all, not just the people most like him that hold his values. President Obama's legislation has at least started the country on a path toward giving a voice to as many people as possible. And while abortion and gay/lesbian marriage are not Biblical in themselves, passing judgment and enforcing a certain worldview at the national level certainly aren't either. 

5. It all comes down to the battle between love and the law. Is it more important to enforce God's law or to show God's love? If you want someone to do something (or not do something), you won't get very far by telling them what to do or creating rules that limit their choices. People don't tend to respond well to things forced on them. You can get a lot farther by providing choice and compassion. When Jesus began His ministry, the religious leaders of the day were worried that He had come to abolish the Law. Jesus said that he came instead to fulfill the Law. If you have any questions about how He fulfilled the law, just take a look at how He lived His life. I'll give you a hint: He did it in love.

I can't tell you how you should vote next month, or if you should even vote at all. If I did, you can tattoo the word "hypocrite" across my forehead since I just got done talking about how important it is to make one's own decisions. So in matters of politics as well as every other aspect of life, it's important and necessary to be selective. Think of yourself, think of others, and think of who you represent. 

Your decisions matter. 

TWoNC, Day 2: Brings Good to Others

She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life. (31:12)

This verse follows the verse from yesterday, the one about inspiring confidence. This woman strives to bring good, as much good as she can, to the people that she loves. The verse refers to her husband, but for those of us that don't have husbands, I think we can substitute "them" for "him." All of the careful decisions she makes, all of the careful planning she does, and all of the work she does is for the good of the ones she loves. They are always on her mind, their well-being in the forefront of her thoughts. Because she loves them, she protects them from harm. 

And she does this each day, all of the days of her life. 

She can't afford to make bad decisions that might hurt other people, or even herself. God has entrusted her to take care of other people: biological children, non-biological children, a spouse, co-workers, friends, residents, parents, students, patients,  roommates...she brings good, not harm. I think taking care of other people is one of the most honorable things that a person can do with their life. It's a Biblical mandate: whatever you do for the least of these children of mine, you do for me. All of us are the "least" of these in some capacity; Jesus isn't talking about just the starving children of Africa or the poor old people in the nursing home.

Caring for the hungry means feeding the starving children of Grand Rapids as well as the starving children of Africa, encouraging the ones who are desperate for recognition, and ministering to the ones who seek something more substantial than what they've been getting by on.

Caring for the thirsty means providing clean water to those who can't access it, pouring into the ones who then pour into others, and quenching the dry cracked hearts of those who have been away from the Fountain for a long time.

Caring for the stranger means welcoming the unfamiliar face, forgiving the ones who have made themselves strangers to you, and bringing justice to the ones who are far away from home.

Caring for the naked means providing clothing for those who can't afford it, surrounding the vulnerable in love and protection, and sharing the space under the Eagle's wings with those who need shelter.

Caring for the sick means taking care of those who can't take care of themselves, providing a support system for those whose steps are unsure, and bringing the Light to those who need a reason to live. 

Caring for the imprisoned means fighting for those whom society has chosen to forget, climbing into the pit with those who are stuck, and advertising the ultimate Freedom. 

Caring for the least of these means....bringing good. 

Let us pray.

Papa, thank you for taking care of me and demonstrating to me how to take care of others. Help me to see those who need a little bit more good in their lives. Help me to pay attention to Your nudges and to look out for others' needs, not just my own. Strengthen me so that I never ever become weary in doing good. I want You to shine on me, shine in me, and shine out of me. I'm yours. 

Amen. 

The Woman of Noble Character, Day 1

About two weeks ago, a wise friend of mine sent me this text after I told her lonely I felt amid all of the engagement and wedding notices:
"The thing I always remind msyelf is how mad I'll be that I wasted all this time worrying about a man! Either when I do get married, or when I end a successful life single, I'll be irritated that worry took away so much of my life. I do NOT want that regret hanging over my head!"
Well. That is not what I wanted to hear.

At the time.

The more I thought about it, the more I knew, OF COURSE, that she was right. Why worry about something that's not happening for me just because it's happening for someone else? Why am I taking this as confirmation that it's never going to happen for me when I don't know that to be true?

So, born out of all these swirling doubts, a new series: The Woman of Noble Character from Proverbs 31. (Now, I realize that in the Bible it actually says the Wife of Noble Character, but I figure that we are women foremost, and why not strive for noble character before we get married?)

Day 1: She Inspires Confidence

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value. [31:10-11]

Full confidence. He trusts her with everything because he is confident in her abilities and her character. Not only her husband, but everyone in her life has full confidence in her. 

Now, I don't know about you, but I don't inspire full confidence in myself. My irrational emotional side finds it hard to imagine that I inspire confidence in anyone else. My rational logical side knows that that can't be true. Parents trust me with their kids at Bible School, my boss trusts me with the well-being and academic progress of her children, my cooperating teacher trusted me with her 150 students last semester, and my friends trust me with their hearts. But it's the classic battle: my head knows what my heart finds so hard to accept.

But thankfully, God has full confidence in me. He knows what I'm capable of because He created in me everything that I am. He knows where I've been and where I'm going. He knows what holds me back and pushes me through it. He knows who's broken me and who's built me. Best of all, He knows me at my best and at my worst and loves me anyway. 

This is the promise I cling to: "I who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it." You know what that means? It doesn't matter if I screw up! God brings the good work out anyway! That means that there isn't anything I can do to destroy God's good work in me. 

My confidence in myself should come from His confidence in me. On some level, I've always known that, but it's taken the last couple of years and some reading of Proverbs 31 to make it sink in a little further. 

Shall we pray?

God...I pray that you would build your confidence in me. Help me to remember that I need to find my confidence in you. Some days it's really hard for me to remember that I'm worth it because the world is doing its best to tear me apart. Please lend me your strength and understanding. Help me to remember who I am: a child you have invested in and poured yourself into. Thank you for who you are and your faithfulness. I love you my abba. 

To All the Single People Out There [for Rachel]

My dear friend Rachel, a fellow single woman, sent me the link to this video today. She must have been tipped off by Someone how much I needed it.
It blew my mind. I watched it three times in a row.
If you, like me, are waiting very impatiently for your future husband or wife, I urge you to listen to this spoken word piece.
If you're waiting for someone who will hold you, hug you, kiss you, take care of you, touch you, support you, miss you, pray for you, value you, respect you, and love you, don't settle. Don't settle. DON'T settle.

DON'T SETTLE. You hear me? Waiting is hard, I know that. But you'll never forgive yourself if you settle for someone who doesn't treat you the way you should be treated. That will hurt so much more than you hurt now, seeing your friends get married and find the fulfillment that you are so desperately searching for.

People can go on and on about how all you need is Jesus, He'll fill the void in your heart, He's the perfect man for you, etc. I believe all that. But I also believe that He's not going to simply fill that void with Himself. That's why I ache the way I do. I was designed to have a companion. Some day, we'll meet each other.

In the meantime...I guess I'm learning patience. Ha. Better than that, though, is this dear friend Rachel. Perhaps the funniest thing to me is that Rachel and I have known each other since middle school, when we started 7th grade at the same school. We weren't good friends, necessarily, but we were certainly friendly. A.P. Calculus definitely bonded us tighter than the strongest duct tape ever could. Other than that, we were always on the periphery of each other's social sphere.

Then we graduated from high school, and even graduated from the same college! Here's a picture of us.

As my impeccable timing would have it, we became close friends about two weeks before she moved to Indiana for grad school. I miss her a lot. We are fellow comrades in singleness. She got me started at Madison Square Church, where I've been attending the last few weeks.

I'm really proud of her, for moving, for starting over, for following her dream of becoming an eye doctor. So very proud. She's a lot braver than I am.

I'm so thankful for you, Rachel. You (and really, your entire family) have been an enormous blessing to me this year. I love you a lot.

I hope you all have someone in your life like Rachel.

Heart Is Where the Home Is

To anyone that has ever had to leave behind a church that they loved, a community that felt like family, or a place where they felt at home.
And especially to anyone who found all of those things in one place.

I know how you feel.

And I'll pray for you.

The Toilet Room Mural

It started with one verse. 

It turns out that this is my roommate Beth's verse of the year. She's focusing on letting the old things fall away and growing in the new things that God reveals to her. 

I didn't know all of that at the time that I designed this mural, so that made it all even more cool. 

As you can maybe see from the bottom-right corner, this is our toilet room. I say 'toilet room' because our bathroom is actually comprised of three rooms: a room with a toilet, a room with a shower, and the room that connects them both with mirrors and sinks and cabinets. It's a great setup. Anyway, the toilet room was quite boring with its blank white walls. 

By the end of the first weekend at school, this is how far I had gotten. The tree was done and the birds were flying out of the branches. But then it sat that way for about two more weeks because I didn't have time to complete it. 

It was a work in progress. 

Then, I finally got some time this weekend to finish the other half: the roots and fish. 

And here it is, the final product. Now we and all of our guests have something to look at when we go to the bathroom. No more yawning blank white space.

I felt this weird tension during the two weeks in which the mural was incomplete. It didn't look bad, by any means. It didn't even look like it was, in fact, incomplete. If you hadn't seen the original sketch, you wouldn't know that there was more to be done. But I knew. Every time I went to the bathroom, I saw that mural and knew that it wasn't finished yet. 

I feel that way with my life too. I am a work in progress. Some days I feel like I'm getting closer to being the person I'm meant to be, while other days I feel like I'm getting farther away. There is a gap between the person I want to be and the person that I am. There is tension in that gap. It is uncomfortable in that gap because I know that, in a perfect world, there would be no gap. One of life's great journeys is to close the gap. Or, rather, to let God close the gap, since I know that I haven't exactly proven capable at it so far. I'm still a work in progress. 

Good thing God is a patient artist.

Imperfections and Intercessory Drawing

Brace yourselves, this post gets weird. 

I have this sketchbook. This sketchbook went to Spain with me and became a scrapbook of sorts. I drew in it on occasion, but much more often, I wrote in it or taped in pictures or knickknacks or mementos to help me remember my time in Spain. In fact, the Spain portion of the book is a pretty accurate portrayal of culture shock and homesickness. 

Whenever I did draw, it was always visual representations of how I was feeling. 

This one is how I felt when I left the U.S.; as if there was a clean hole where my heart should have been.

  

This one came from an entire week of feeling this terrible sense of dread everywhere I went. 

Continually crashing into someone's self-made walls...

This one is perhaps the best visual representation of how I felt during my semester abroad.

So those ones were all from during my time in Spain. I didn't use my sketchbook nearly as often once I got back to the States, probably because I had other outlets available to me. I didn't do any drawing in my book for over a year. Then, about two weeks ago, I started drawing again. It wasn't the raw emotional drawing I had done before; mostly just ideas for the apartment and sketches of designs I'd like to decorate with. 

Then one night, this little guy flowed out through my pencil. 

I can tell you right now that this drawing was born out of several weeks in a row of engagement notices every few days from friends of mine. As happy as I am for them that they have found the person they want to spend their lives with, it serves to remind me that I haven't found that person. That person that is completely right for me. This drawing is of two people holding the "heart" of the other. That's how I feel right now. Like I'm holding onto a piece of someone else and desperately searching for that person who has the piece of me. 

Then, a few nights later, this little gem came out...

Now here's where it gets weird. I've never felt this emotion. Sure, I have a few OCD-like tendencies, but never have I felt compelled to measure the distances between my books and notebooks and pens and the edges of the desk. I've never felt compelled to wash my hands because I couldn't cope with an obsessive thought. I've never experienced the seemingly endless task of arranging one's life perfectly in order to stave off anxiety and a sense of doom. 

But while I was drawing, I did feel all of those things. During the last twenty-four hours, I've been trying to think of a way to describe what exactly went on during the time I was drawing. I can only describe it as intercessory drawing. 

You've heard of intercessory prayer, right? From what I've experienced, intercession happens when a person puts themselves into the place of the person they are praying for and opens him- or herself up to feel the emotions, pain, and struggles that that person is feeling. From that weak place, the intercessor can more adequately pray for the person. I've been learning how to do it ever since a spiritual gifts survey from church told me I had the gift of intercession. 

Anyway, as I was drawing, I unconsciously put myself in the place of the girl I was drawing, with her ruler in hand, trying in vain to align her books and pencils just so, failing miserably, but doing it anyway. I don't think I was drawing for myself. I think I was drawing for someone else. At the end, I wondered if there might be someone for whom this drawing conveyed the emotion inside of her. 

Maybe by me putting this picture up here, you will be affected by it. Maybe you'll see it and think, Yeah, I can identify with that girl, trying to make her life perfect but failing. I know I've tried it. I always think that if I can just control some of the aspects of my life, more and more of it will fall into perfect place. If you've been reading this blog at all, you'll know that my life is never in its perfect place. But where's the need for a perfect God and His perfect love if I've already got a perfect life? 

The imperfect catches the eye not simply because it is not perfect, but because it is determined to prove its worth anyway. There is beauty in imperfection. It is less obvious, but more rewarding. More meaningful. More real. 

If you're struggling today to be perfect, spoiler alert: you can't do it alone. God will make you perfect, but it takes time. His time, not ours. Let the beauty of your imperfections shine anyway. I'll try to do it too. 

God? I'm scared.

[Context: Last night was rough. I typed all of this out some time after midnight because I couldn't fall asleep. It's mostly a prayer, and I wanted to make sure it was still worth publishing once day came. Basically, I just laid in bed and said all the things I was scared about.]

God?
I'm scared that I won't be able to fall asleep tonight.
I'm scared that I'll feel lonely forever.
I'm scared that no one is going to want to marry me.
I'm scared that I won't make enough money to go to grad school.
I'm scared that my capstones are going to bury me.
I'm scared that my closest friends are going to keep getting engaged and eventually I'll be the only one left.
I'm scared that someone really close to me is going to die soon because no one close to me has ever died.
I'm scared that I'm getting really really really really tired again like before.
I'm scared that my depression will never go away.

[Amazingly, after saying all of these things, I felt better. I've never heard God's voice audibly before, but in my mind, a phrase kept repeating: "My grace is sufficient for you. My grace is sufficient for you. Sufficient." And then I think I fell right to sleep because the next thing I remember is hearing my phone alarm song.]

God is good.

The OCD Monster

So here's an interesting story...

I was working in the ole candy store tonight and after the dinner rush subsided, I had a chance to look around and see what a hot mess the store had become in all the mayhem. Boxes on the floor, empty ice cream containers on every surface, and containers of candy everywhere thanks to our new shipment. I started darting around like a crazy person, breaking down boxes and tidying up. After a few trips to drop off bags of trash and a stack of cardboard, I took a good look at the shelves underneath the candy counters. Boxes of Sour Geckos were in nine different locations. 50¢ candy was on the shelf beneath the 5¢ candy. Several half-full boxes of Gummi Hot Dogs were scattered around. The candy was out of control.

There is little that irks me more than unnecessary disorganization.

Something snapped inside me and I became singularly obsessed with organizing the candy as soon as possible. I looked like a maniac, pulling boxes off of one shelf and tossing them onto the floor near the shelf on which they were supposed to sit. It's a good thing there weren't any customers around because I was wearing my crazy eyes.

Several other small incidents contributed to my psychosis later that night, but I won't list them for you. Let's just say that I became so agitated and worked up and ready to snap that I put myself to work in the back stock room. I was so afraid that I would let loose on a customer who said the wrong thing. It was better for all involved that I just go and work on something else with no people around.

So I grabbed a cloth and set to work on wiping down freezers and shelves and restocking and organizing and consolidating. Let me just say that I am the queen of consolidation. I absolutely love it. Anyway, I started moving faster and faster, flitting from job to job and definitely not doing them in the most efficient way possible. I'm usually very efficient (unless I am purposely trying to drag out a job), but my brain was so full of little tasks that I kept adding to my mental list. I ended up not even finishing jobs because I was so agitated.

When I got around to the freezer, I sat on a stool and scrubbed at the smallest spots for minutes on end. I was determined to scrub every square inch completely clean. I wanted every tiny blemish gone. I had become obsessed by the thought that I had to get the freezer clean before I could relax.

Anyone who knows me, most especially my mother, will tell you that I am not an obsessive cleaner. I like to have things neat, I don't like to have food laying around, and I definitely don't like visible grime. But am I immediately going to grab a washcloth and wipe up after my roommates? No. Therefore, this obsessive frenetic cleaning was completely out of character for me.

It was scary. It was unnerving. I didn't know how to handle it. I've never been diagnosed with full-blown Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but I do have obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Here's the difference: my life is not ruled by obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors to assuage those thoughts. But, from time to time, I get overcome by obsessive thoughts that simply will not go away. Case in point: I got unreasonably upset about being pulled away from cleaning that freezer because of an ice cream rush. In my right mind, I would jump at the chance to get out of cleaning. My mom can testify to the fact that I put off my weekly chores as long as possible when I was younger. But tonight, all I wanted to do was clean. Maybe "wanted" isn't the right word...it was more like a force inside of me was compelling me to clean.

I've calmed down now, but at the time, it was scary. Whenever I talk to my psychiatrist about these little sparring matches with the OCD monster, he tells me to ride it out. Don't try to fight it, because that will make it worse. Just ride it out. Do what you have to do and survive each episode.

So I guess that's what I'll do. I don't have a better solution or answer right now.

Op-Ed: Let's Talk About Sex

....is the title of the documentary I watched the afternoon.

But seriously, let's talk about sex.

I'd always been a little chicken to cover this topic on the blog, but, like almost anyone my age, I think about sex a lot. It's not like an obsession, or anything, but whenever I see someone get married, I start wondering when it will be my turn. Not just to get married, but also to have someone to be physically close to. I want that so badly. I want to feel that deepest of all human connections. I'll say it: I want to have sex.

Not now, obviously. Not with some rando. But with my husband, whoever that turns out to be.

The documentary spent a lot of time drawing comparisons and contrasts between the approach to and concept of sex in different societies. In the United States, sex is pretty taboo. The media tries to make us think that it isn't, but how many parents are comfortable talking about sex with their kids? Most teenagers are educated about sex by a combination of primetime television, the music industry, and Google Images. I'll admit openly that a lot of my knowledge of how sex actually works and what certain body parts look like came from a series of covert internet searches. I didn't feel comfortable talking sex with my parents, and I figured they wouldn't either.

Europe is a different story. Sex education begins as early as third grade in some countries and it's treated like any other topic of conversation. Sex is not controversial there. Sex is not embarrassing there. I remember experiencing this little phenomenon while I was in Spain. My host sister absolutely loves the show Sex and the City. It came on during primetime, which I thought was a little odd, since every episode has at least one sex scene. My host-nephew would watch the show with us, and Carol had no problem with that. Once, when he was at his dad's for the week, I mentioned to Carol that I found it interesting that Sex and the City was on so early and how easy it would be for kids to find it. She didn't really get where I was going, so I told her about how shows like that are on way late at night because they're considered raunchy and highly inappropriate for kids. She said, "Why? It's just sex. It's normal. Everybody does it. It would be like censoring a show that shows people eating or going to the bathroom."

Interesting take on it, huh? But she was right. Sex is stigmatized in American culture, probably because of abstinence-only sex education and the vocal conservative religious community. Teenagers grow up with the notion that sex is something secretive, something controversial, something wrong. And what do teenagers do when they are told they're not supposed to do something? They immediately want to explore it. And why not? Why take someone's else word when you could find out for yourself? If I saw how much pleasure the people on TV get from having sex but am told by my parents and teachers that sex is bad, who am I more likely to believe? I'd want to figure out for myself who's right about sex and who's wrong. The discrepancy between how the media portrays sex and how parents and teachers portray sex is astounding. Mixed signals fly and kids remain unprepared when they start exploring.

My sex education at a Christian school went like this:
4th grade: The classes were split into girls and boys and the girls watched a video about periods and growing up. I have no idea what the boys did.
5th grade: Another video about periods and growing up, but with a bonus of how babies are made. AKA exactly what sexual intercourse is.
6th grade: Yet another video about periods, plus a side of reproduction, and a Q&A session about sexual processes. I distinctly remember one of the girls in my class asking what a condom was, and the teacher got pretty embarrassed and described it as being similar to a raincoat. I didn't figure out what a condom actually was until I saw the movie Never Been Kissed, which features the quintessential sex ed scene in which the students have to put a condom on a banana.
8th grade: A set of six classes, one per week, about teen pregnancy and STIs conducted by a counselor from Pregnancy Resource Center. For the first time ever, we were in with the boys to talk about such things as chlamydia and semen. This was my first real taste of abstinence-only sex education.

After 8th grade, all formal sex education stopped. We were left to our own devices (our friends and Google) to learn about sex. Oh, the revelations we reached. If we're not supposed to have sex under any circumstances until we get married, then what the heck is a condom for? What would a woman need with a diaphragm? Hmmm, there must be other options than just saying no.

I don't think that abstinence-only sex education works. Adolescents the world over start exploring their sexuality at roughly the same age, regardless of the society they live in. The difference is that some adolescents know how to explore responsibly, and others wind up pregnant. I'll give you one guess where the U.S. falls on that spectrum. The rate of teen pregnancy in the U.S. is more than three times higher than the next leading country because our students are told to simply say no when faced with a sexual situation. Then, when they give in to their hormones and have sex and experience consequences like a baby or an infection, we shake our heads and lament the direction in which our youth are headed.

It's like giving an eight-year-old a box of matches but not a bucket of water. Most eight-year-olds know what matches do and, if given the opportunity, will jump at the chance to play with fire. It's dangerous, it's exciting, and it's just a little bit wrong. If they aren't given a way to put out the fires they start, things can spin out of control pretty quickly.

I think it's the same way with sex. We feed our kids just enough information to intrigue them, and then we shut down discussion by saying that sex is wrong and that they shouldn't do it. Of course they're going to want to give it a try now that you told them they couldn't do it. Sexuality is something that every human being was born with and exploring it is only natural. Unfortunately, they're not equipped to explore it responsibly. We don't teach them what condoms are for, we don't teach them about getting tested and treated for STIs, we don't even admit that sex is as much fun as everyone says it is. If we would just take all the mystery out of sex, kids wouldn't be nearly as interested in it.

Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe that sex should happen between two people who are married. But I'm also a firm believer in the fact that you can't actually control what other people do (or want to do). I know everyone says that, but if everyone actually believed it, we wouldn't have legislation about making abortion illegal or that abstinence is the only right option when faced with sex. If two teenagers really want to have sex, a parent or teacher telling them they can't is not going to stop them. It will probably make them want to do it that much more. Instead, why not approach the topic with them from all sides, put forth all opinions, and show them how to exercise responsibility? In Europe, teenagers can get condoms for free from the nurses's office at school or from their doctor's office. Consequently, their teenage pregnancy rates are 1 in 10, as opposed to 7 in 10 here in the U.S. Some people would be horrified by the availability of  condoms, but I think it's pretty smart. They're not going to abstain just because you tell them to. You'd be better off saving your breath and giving them a condom so that they can dispel the mystery of sex for themselves.

If you're trying to discuss sex from a Christian worldview, it's important to not only discuss exactly what sex is and how to do it responsibly, but also just exactly why you want them to wait until they're married. In all my years of school, I only ever heard that the Bible says to wait and that sex outside of marriage is a sin. All that does is make a person feel really guilty about engaging in sex when they're told they shouldn't. I plan to tell my kids exactly why I think they should wait:

To me, sex is more than just a cliche gift that you "give" to your spouse on your wedding night. It's a deep physical and emotional connection that is designed to be shared with just one person. I take that very seriously. I crave that connection exactly because I know how special and important and awesome it is and I don't want to tarnish it by wasting it. It's a sign of the highest respect to save my first experience of sex for my husband. God designed it to be great. The human race probably would have died out if sex wasn't so much fun. Knowing that I waited to experience it with my husband, and that my husband waited to experience it with me, that we respect each other that much without even knowing each other yet...it's hard to describe the feeling that that thought gives me. I say that I can't wait to have sex, but really I can - because someone else loves me and respects me enough to wait too.

I think that if I can convey this feeling to my children, maybe I won't have to resort to pregnancy statistics and nasty images of STIs. Instead of guilting them into waiting with warnings of God's wrath for those who participate in premarital sex, I want to teach them to actually want to wait.

A Prayer for You, Kates

Honey, this sucks. The OPI sucks.
I wish I knew how to help you. I wish I knew what to say that would help. I hope I've held back from saying things that wouldn't help. If I could give you my OPI score, I would do it in a heartbeat. I feel a little bit guilty because I have it and don't need it. Have you ever noticed that you and I have exactly what the other needs? You have the passion for teaching and Spanish, which I need, and I have the OPI score, which you need. Life is weird sometimes.

I could tell you that God has a plan, but you already know that. And I don't find that super helpful when I'm upset. I could tell you to be patient and wait for what God has in store, but I don't like it when people say that to me either. I could even say that teaching Spanish may not be what you're supposed to be doing, but I'm pretty sure that that is the last thing you want to hear and I'm afraid you might smack me.

So here's what I will tell you: I'm praying for you. I'm here to listen. I like smashing things, if your anger ever needs an outlet.

You'll figure it out. You're strong. You're a fighter. Eventually, it will all make sense. I love you.

Love, Andrea

Floating

One of my favorite things to do on Lake Michigan is float. I'm not much of a daredevil when it comes to motorized water activities, so floating on a raft or inner tube is just enough danger for me. I would often do this at the Conference Grounds with my housemates. We'd take our tubes down to the beach and wade out to the first sandbar. That sandbar is awesome because the water is only about waist-deep there. We'd hoist ourselves up onto our rafts, stretch out, and just relax. Feel the waves passing beneath our bodies, feel the sun on our faces, miles away from the rest of civilization, almost.

Sometimes I'd find myself carried way down shore even though I felt like I hadn't moved. The waves were just subtle enough to become unnoticed. But when I opened my eyes and looked around, I didn't recognize the shoreline. The first time this happened, I had a moment of minor panic because I figured I had floated at least a mile. A few more moments of looking around and studying the beach told me that I was only four or five properties down. All I had to do was paddle to shore and just walk back and I'd be back at the Conference Grounds.

If only it was so easy in real life as walking back.

I've had an overwhelming sense of floating this summer. And not good floating, like the moments after a first kiss. I'm talking about the feeling you get when you're laying in bed at night after a long day on the water and you feel like you're still out there. You feel like you're moving up and down with the whims of the waves and just when you feel steady again, another invisible wave nudges you off-balance again. That's the feeling I've had this summer throughout the fatigue, the tiredness, the sickness, the medication changes, and the fact that even though I graduated, I'm not done yet. All of the friends I graduated with have packed their summers with weddings, job interviews, and moving truck rentals. I'm just floating along here, buying textbooks for another semester. And even though I know that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be, it doesn't mitigate how I feel.

I don't really have a happy wrap-up lesson to end this post with, probably because this season of my life is not happily wrapped up yet. I'm just out here floating until I can get back to shore and walk to back to where I once again recognize my surroundings.

Wisdom from How I Met Your Mother

This is my life right now.
(you might have to crank the volume way up because the video itself is pretty quiet)

Things People Say at the Conference Grounds

This little video is my contribution to this year's Lip Sync. I had a wedding reception to attend the night of the Lip Sync, so I couldn't actually be in it, but I figured this was a good way to participate. Each sentence you hear in this video is something that campers or staff members have said many times at the Conference Grounds. Even if you've never heard of the Grounds, hopefully you'll find this funny. Enjoy!

Simple Fixes

It appears that my tiredness and fatigue and lethargy has a simple fix: Zoloft and Vitamin D.

That's right. My blood work showed that I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I know what you're thinking: how can Andrea, whose backyard is Lake Michigan, have a Vitamin D deficiency?! I was wondering the same thing. I pointed this out to the doctor who suspected the deficiency, and she said that it was probably more likely that my body has an inability to produce Vitamin D from sunlight. She prescribed two 2,000 IU Vitamin D pills for me to take every day. That is one THOUSAND percent of my daily need of Vitamin D. In my Google research, I didn't find any tie between Vitamin D and fatigue/energy. But I guess between those pills and the new antidepressants, something is working.

I'm finally feeling better. I've made it all the way to midnight the last three nights. That hasn't happened in MONTHS. I haven't had to talk myself into getting out of bed in the morning this week. I no longer find myself yawning as I hand over ice cream cones and hamburgers. Perhaps best of all, my strength is returning. I can lift the 3-gallon tubs of ice cream again, I can go upstairs without getting tired, and I'm back to being a scooping machine.

Part of me wishes that the answer had turned out to be something more glamorous, like a rare disease or condition that stumps the experts. But then I think, hello, those rare diseases and conditions hardly ever have such cheap and simple fixes as a nutrition supplement. Two hundred Vitamin D pills cost me, like, eight bucks or something and last me three months. Don't be a martyr, Andrea. Enjoy your simple fix.

So here's to hoping that this actually IS the simple fix and not just a weird side effect of two new prescriptions. I have a follow-up with the sleep clinic in about three weeks to discuss how the Vitamin D supplement is working. If my fatigue comes back, we move forward with a sleep study. My muscle twitching and leg jerking haven't gone away yet, so if that's still happening, then I think I get a referral to a neurologist.

Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement. I really appreciate all of you. I'm thankful that we are finally getting somewhere and for all that God is teaching me through this ordeal.

On a separate, unrelated note, this is post #100. :)

A Door Closed

Well, Eerdmans Publishing said no. That wasn't such a great email to come home to this morning. It said
"We are grateful for your consideration, but I am afraid that in our very full program we do not see a niche for this proposal, and that we must therefore disappoint you. What does not suit our current needs may suit perfectly the needs of another publisher, and we wish you well in your efforts elsewhere." 
Bah. Oh well. It's virtually unheard of for an author to get a deal from their very first publisher anyway. I'm planning to try with Faith Alive Resources next, which just happens to be the publishing arm of the Christian Reformed Church. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, here is what I've been tooling around with as far as the cover art is concerned. That is, if I get a say in it. :) 

That's all I've got for now. 

Change of Pace

Now that we are well into summer, I've determined that my constant tiredness was not simply a result of school year stress. In fact, some days, it's worse than ever. Hmm. Dilemma. I wake up so very tired (and often sore) every morning, go to work, and never quite wake up. Yesterday, it was my turn to mop the kitchen and it took me twice as long as it did before because I had to stop and rest so often. I feel so pathetic in this malfunctioning body.

A few Sundays ago, something truly scary happened to me. I yawned my way through morning church, much like the way I yawn my way through devotions and Bible School on the weekdays, and when I got back to my cottage, I fell into bed and closed my eyes. Three hours later, I woke up and got out of bed, but only because I knew I needed to eat something for lunch. It was a good thing that my parents had left some lunch in the refrigerator or I probably would have sat at the table and just stared at the cupboard, waiting for something to jump out and land in front of me. My motivation to find something to eat was zero.

I crawled back into my bed after returning to the cottage. There was nothing I wanted to do. Nothing sounded good. I had no energy and no motivation to do anything but lay in bed with my eyes closed. I didn't even care that I wasn't sleeping. Usually, if I'm in my bed under the covers, I'm trying to fall asleep. This time, I didn't even care. I passed several hours this way that Sunday. My housemates thought I simply wasn't feeling well, mostly because I didn't correct them when they asked what was wrong. And truly, I wasn't feeling well. They assumed physically, and I didn't tell them otherwise. My mind was a dangerous place.

Now, wait a minute, Andrea...aren't you taking medication that is supposed to get rid of these types of feelings and symptoms of depression?

My meds, which I have depended on since September, weren't working anymore. Or rather, they were working to make me worse. I was experiencing negative emotions that I never even had before meds. I spent awhile on the phone with my friend Jessica that night talking about how I felt and wondering aloud why I felt this way when I wasn't supposed to. She kept telling me that it was probably the result of my medication, but I was so reluctant to believe her. I refused to believe that my medication had failed. In my mind, it meant that I had failed. To the rational mind, this makes no sense. I have no power over how my body reacts to certain chemicals. But my rational mind was on vacation at that point.

I finally saw my doctor yesterday and asked to switch anti-depressants. In hindsight, it seems like it should have been so much easier than it actually was. Why on earth would I want to continue taking pills that make me feel worse than I already feel? I came back over and over to the feeling of failure. In truth, failure has absolutely nothing to do with it. My meds did not fail. They worked for me for over nine months. My brain eventually built up a tolerance to them, and they stopped doing what they were supposed to do. The time had come to find a new medication to do the job my old meds did.

I did not fail. Failure would have been refusing to be courageous and make a change.

Rejoicing and Mourning

Romans 12:15
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Simple, blunt, and to-the-point. This is one of my favorite verses because it contains core instructions for how to build a community. Paul tells us to participate in both the happy times and the sad times with those we care about. A caring community can multiply the happiness when there is reason to celebrate and it can divide the burden of sadness when there is reason to mourn. The church that I attend right now carries out Paul’s instructions so well and I think it’s a strong point of our church. After my step-grandfather Bob passed away, we received lots of cards and calls from members of the congregation who wanted to be a link in our support system. Our pastor even called to ask if he could come to our house and pray with us or talk with us, whatever we needed. It’s such a blessing to be a part of a community like this that knows how to rejoice and mourn with its members.

Personally, I am not so great at rejoicing and mourning with others. I always start out with every intention of doing so, but my emotions and self-centeredness often get in the way. Weddings are a prime example of my failure to rejoice with those who rejoice.

I love the concept of weddings. I love knowing that one person has found their person and that they are ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. I love that moment when the bride appears around the corner and the groom gets his first glimpse of her in her beautiful dress. Whenever I go to a wedding, I watch all the attendants come down the aisle and coo over the dressed up little flower girls and ring-bearers. But as soon as the bride’s song starts playing, I turn around and look at the groom. His face breaks out into a big grin and he can’t take his eyes off of his bride. I love all of these things about weddings. In theory.

In actual practice, I dread going to weddings. Weddings remind the hopelessly single girl that she is not getting married any time soon. Weddings give other couples the opportunity to celebrate their own relationships and reminisce about the time they have spent together. Weddings decrease the available single friends that a single person can turn to for support when they feel completely steamrolled by their singleness.

When it comes to weddings, I fail at rejoicing with those who rejoice. I can put on a good face and smile and give genuine congratulations because a part of me is truly happy for the couple. But the rest of me is breaking because I want to be in the bride’s place, knowing that someone loves me and that my future is secure.

A part of me dies every time I see another friend get engaged on Facebook. I desperately wish it wasn't that way, but the pain is instant. It’s probably God’s way of telling me that I need to learn a very important lesson: how to rejoice with those who are rejoicing. A wedding day is a day set aside just to focus on two people and participate in their celebration. It is not a day to complain to other single guests, mourn the "loss" of another single friend, or think too deeply about life and become miserable. No, a wedding is a day for those two people up in front who are taking the first step on a lifelong journey hand-in-hand. This is where my self-centeredness tends to get out of control. I get so hung-up on how I feel, why I’m single, will I ever get married, etc. I, I, I. But it’s not supposed to be about me, which is something I need to improve on a lot.

Mourning with those who mourn is a different story entirely. I’m both very good and very bad at this. If the person that is mourning needs empathy, then I can succeed. But if that person needs sympathy, I fail. Here’s why.

Empathy is “I know how you feel;” while sympathy is “I feel how you feel.” In my experience, sympathy often goes hand-in-hand with tears. I never cry. Or rather, I feel like I can’t cry. Physically incapable. I have never been able to summon tears at funerals, weddings, sad movies, sad books, divorces, not even deaths. I dread going to funerals almost as much as I dread going to weddings, not because of what happens at funerals, but because I’m afraid of being judged for not having any tears to shed. I find it so difficult to feel what that hurting person is feeling in that moment because I can’t summon up tears.

Crying is essential for mental health. Crying can release physical and emotional tension that we didn’t even know we had. Have you ever wondered why you feel physically tired or weak after a long cry? Through crying, your body released a great deal of physical tension. If it was a cathartic cry, you feel exhausted, but in a good way. It’s as if you are releasing your emotional pain drop by drop until there is nothing left.

In Spanish, the word for ‘exhausted’ is agotado, which comes from the verb gotear, which means ‘to drip,’ and the noun gota, which means ‘drop.’ We take agotado to mean ‘exhausted’ in English, but when literally translated, it provides a single word for “being completely dripped out." Whatever the gota is, whether it is water, oil, strength, funds, or happiness, agotado is the end state of being completely dripped dry of that thing.

I have never felt that kind of exhausted before, in large part because I can’t cry. I would love to know that feeling because the most intimate moments between friends can be shared by having a good cry together. Being stuck in the emotional pain of that period before the good cry is both frustrating and wearing. I should know. I’ve been stuck in that place for the better part of the last four years.

The beauty that rises from the ashes of that pain is my unique ability to empathize. Empathy is “I know how you feel. I know how that feels. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. I know how that struggle goes. You’re not the only one that has ever felt that way. I’ve felt it too.” The empathizer probably isn’t feeling that emotional pain at the moment, but it’s almost better that way, because then he or she can be the strong safe place for the person who is feeling that pain.

At the beginning of my battle with depression, I wanted people who would show sympathy. I wanted them to feel the way I did and sit with me and hold me and comfort me. But as I grew older, I came to realize that this wasn’t helping. In those moments, I was weak, and if the person next to me was feeling my pain, then he or she was weak too. Two weak people can’t be the strong safe place for each other. Instead I needed someone who knew my pain intimately but had not been overcome by it. I had to see evidence that this pain was not all-consuming, not all-powerful, not ever-present.

To this day, the best words of comfort that I have ever received came from my friend Jessica, who routinely tells me, “I know how you feel. I don’t know what to say to you, but I know how you feel.” If you’re not used to empathy, this seems kind of harsh. You might think that she could have taken a little bit more time to think of something more reassuring to say. But what she comes up with may not be genuine. I’d rather have Jessica’s words because they are honest. I know she doesn’t know what to say because if she did, she’d be able to tell it to herself and she wouldn’t know exactly how I feel.

Mourning with those who mourn requires empathy, if you ask me. Those who mourn are looking for a safe place to hide while they let their guards down and make themselves vulnerable. If you are feeling all of their emotions with them, you are just as vulnerable and you can’t hold them up. As unfeeling as empathy seems at first, in the long run, it’s the most healing. One person can be strong for the other, instead of both people feeling weak and exhausted.

Rejoicing and mourning are a group effort. Rejoicing alone is lonely. Mourning alone is devastating. God calls us to rejoice and mourn as a family, each one paying attention to the needs of the others. Like me, you might find that hard to do sometimes. Let your community help you and cover your weaknesses. There might be others that could use you to cover their own weaknesses. To me, that’s what community is all about.

Beauty from the Ashes: The Book

I'm kicking around the idea of writing a book. This is the working introduction...

This book started out as a blog of the same name in May 2011, while I was studying abroad in Spain. Many of my classmates started blogs to keep their families and friends updated on what we were learning and what we were seeing during our time there. Since I was already doing this through Facebook, I didn't see the need to keep up with a blog. Plus, as you'll learn later on in this book, I had a lot of thoughts and experiences on my mind that were not exactly standard fare in a "What I Did During My Semester Abroad" blog. 

As the semester was drawing to a close, though, I realized that just because my experience of being abroad was so different from those of my classmates didn't mean that my experience was any less real or any less valid. In fact, some of my closest friends were feeling the same way I was, which both astounded and encouraged me. So, with just 13 days left in my semester abroad, I began my blog. 

The blog evolved into a very honest portrayal of my life and my thoughts beyond the time I spent in Spain. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. I strived to write about topics that actually mattered, not just what I happened to be doing that day. I don't particularly enjoy reading blogs like that, and I figured others wouldn't want to either. I wanted my blog to be a worthwhile read every time I updated, not just a weekly spew about my life. 

A blog (or book, for that matter) that is worth reading requires honesty. Writing has been an exercise in becoming more honest with myself and, more importantly, not being afraid of that honesty.  It has helped me to grow in my understanding of why God allows certain things happen and in my ability to see the beauty  that He can create in an otherwise hopeless situation. 

This concept is best visualized by something that I saw once at the campground I worked at during the summers of my college years. Before leaving their campsite, someone had placed a little yellow flower in the ashes of their fire pit. On first glance, I thought this was extremely odd. Flowers and fire do not go together. Any amateur pyromaniac who has played in a campfire with a long stick knows this. I can always tell which campsites have just been vacated by pyromaniacs because all vegetation within a 2-foot radius of the fire pot is charred and curled in on itself. That flower was just waiting to be tortured. 

As I continued on my way, I kept thinking about that flower. I knew there was no way that it could have grown there naturally, but if it had, it would make a perfect metaphor for life. Bad things happen and leave physical, emotional, financial, psychological, and spiritual wreckage behind. When I picture wreckage, I see fire, smoke, twisted metal, dirt...and ashes. How could anything grow in the midst of wreckage?

Ashes signify that something has been completely and irreversibly destroyed. If I had paid more attention during chemistry back in high school, I would be able to tell you all about how ashes are the result of a chemical reaction, an irreversible process by which chemicals interact to create an entirely new substance. The original chemicals are gone and you are left with something that is both better and stronger than those chemicals were on their own. 

 In life, ashes happen when everything you are comfortable with goes up in flames. But in order to become a better and stronger person, you have to have ashes. You have to allow things to burn and fall apart so that God can put the pieces back together the way He wants to. 

And while you're waiting for God to put the pieces together, look for the flowers that He plants in the ashes. When you least expect it, they burst through the surface and smile at you. 

It took me a couple of years to realize that being reduced to ashes is not the end. God is creating beauty from my ashes and He is doing the same thing for you. Everyone can see the ashes in their life. But not everyone can see the beauty in those ashes. 

I would love to hear what you think. After all, even though a book may have only one or two official authors, there are many more people that contribute to its production.