Racing. Loving. Living.

Reaching for a pen, I inked the word Life, in loose cursive, onto my arm. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply. ‘Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Remember the reason. Focus.’ Each race, so far, I had a different focusing point. First, I ran for joy. For the joy of running and moving, for the joy of living life, just for joy in general. The next race was the polar opposite. I ran to leave all the anger, pain, and confusion behind me. But each race, I also ran to find that connecting point to God, because, when I run, I do feel the presence of God. Regaining some clarity and peace in the middle of my pre-race jitters, I finished lacing up my well-worn running shoes, plugged in my ear buds, donned my high school track sweatshirt, and bounced out the door.

Focus. Remember….How could I not remember. No, I could remember  so clearly—so vividly—everything about this day, one year prior. In fact, this entire day had been a day of remembering. Beginning with the moment I woke up, like typical for a Sunday, around 7:30am…

At this time last year, I thought to myself, I would have been getting ready to go to church with my family. I even remember what I was wearing—American Eagle Jeans, my black shirt tucked in, and a black belt to complete my outfit. As I rummaged through my little sister’s drawer for her black belt, a cry from my Momma cut through the peaceful air. My Dad had just called home from church (he had gone ahead of us with my brothers to run the projector for the service) to say that a young man from our church was shot and killed earlier that morning. Joel was living overseas, serving as a teacher, with his wife and two little boys. My world went silent.

I so vividly remember how my world went silent. Silence that I have never before heard,  it wasn’t even broken by a moment of breathing. And then the wave of emotions came crashing over me as I stood in the kitchen with my mom and two sisters, my brain frantically attempting to comprehend what this message meant.

Why, if God truly was loving, would He have let this happen? If God was truly all-powerful, loving, just, and righteous, would He let something so horrific happen so someone who loved Him? And if His plans were truly for good and not evil, then why would something so evil happen?

As these questions swirled through my head, bitter sorrow, disappointment, intense sadness, and pain came rushing in. His wife, his little boys, his sister and her family, his brother and his family, his parents, his friends, my heart agonized over the pain they must be in. My sense of empathy raged inside of me, I didn’t even want to know how much they must be hurting, because I didn’t know how I would bear it.

My feet kept moving, finding a rhythm on the pavement. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

I so clearly remember almost this exact time last year, I was walking down to this same place, only I was seeking solace, or refuge, or…escape. My house was heavy with the grief and sorrow of the mourning. My head was fatigued from all the thoughts, emotions, and feelings that were running through it, threatening to drag me under it’s current.  Instead of finding any of those things, I heard the sound of cheering and laughter, and remembered that it was the weekend of this race. Anger flaring up again.
‘God, these people go on like nothing happened. Their world is entirely the same. And yet, something did happen! Something horrible, tragic, and awful. And they act like it’s just another day?!’ My anger soon gave way to weariness, and I veered off the road toward a little creek. Finding an old table, I sat down. Tired. Confused. Numb, but in so much pain. My world, in which things were generally good, suddenly collided with terrorism. My benefit of the doubt ran into the brutality of reality, creating a, seemingly, cruel and unforgiving, place.  And, slowly, doubt crept in.

Focus. Remember…

Sitting on that old bench, I pulled out my pen and poured out my heart onto paper. Questions ranted through the pages,

‘Is this really best? How can this be fair? Wasn’t there another way?’ 

Yet, quietly, a still, small voice whispered through the chaos and confusion, the dark void, and spoke. With gentle, but passionate words, He spoke, reminding me of who He is, of His plans. As my pen kept writing, somehow bitterness and sorrow began to intertwine with hope and joy. Somehow in the middle of my grief, the hope of a hope entered.

…Breathe.

 Reflecting on the life, and death, of Joel, I saw a life lived in love. Deep love. He loved his family, his God, and the people he served. (and, after all this happened, it became known to the world that this people loved him too, as they took to the streets to protest and bravely tell the world that they, too, were deeply upset and hurt by this.) I knew that Joel had already counted the cost; he knew the risk in following his call. And yet, he still followed…because he loved. And that love was the source of his passion. I remember the quiet presence that Joel possessed whenever he shared in our youth group or church, yet there was a strength, confidence, and honor in that, that commanded the attention when he shared. And in the following weeks/months, I would begin to understand even more deeply just how much he really loved. His life exuded love for those around him. In that love, he chose to live. And in that love, he died. I think that Joel’s life wasn’t taken; it was given.

Moving, running, breathing, connecting…

Only a couple hours before I had hit the pavement, I had left my church and driven to another local church. I was there to support a friend who, in front of hundreds of people, was rededicating her life and trust to Jesus through baptism. Tears welled in my eyes, and my heart swelled with pride as I watched her and fourteen other people make their public declaration. It, too, reminded me of that afternoon a year ago…I had been pushed to a place of desperation, I knew I had a choice to make. Sure, I had given my life to Christ. I had been baptized. I wanted to live life well, and do good things. But now the stake had been moved; life had intensified. The risk was higher and harder. The requirements to go forward included a decision. Either I trusted in a God of redemption, restoration, strength, goodness, courage, and life, even in the face of death. Or I could deny that He was all those things, and let the doubt wash over me. In the doubt, I found and ease; honestly, it made more sense to my grieving and mourning heart.

Yet, I didn’t want to believe that was true. Looking at Joel’s life, I knew I wanted to live like that. If my life was required of me to give, then it would be given. I rededicated, re-consecrated, my life, to a God that I saw in his life; a God that made life worth living, and love worth the risk.

And now, more clearly than ever, I knew life wasn’t filled with mostly good things, it couldn’t be. Not in a world so filled with horrific and evil things. But what it could be full of is love. Love that covers over the pain, sorrow, bitterness, anger, hurt, evil, tragedy, and loss. Love that made it worth trusting, believe, hoping. And love that made all the hurt worth it. Love that loved loving people. Life, in the mystery of the good and bad intertwining, was worth living when love comes in.

So as I ran, I knew I ran for life. For everything that it included, remembering how much I’ve learned since this day last year.  I ran to honor Joel’s life. I ran because in watching his wife live through this past year, I stood in awe at her grace, strength and trust. I ran for his sister, brother, parents and friends. I ran for love. I mostly just ran for life, with everything that came with it. A life well live, is a life well loved.

(and the details? Okay, I ran my personal best time. The official gun time was 18:41. I placed 11^th overall, and first for the women. I won the series (after winning both the February and March race) for the women. And, mostly, I just got to run with other incredibly people.)

After almost a year of not blogging, I'm sitting here ready to write again. And yet, I'm not even sure where to begin.

My last post was a post of intense brokenness. Honestly, a lot of last year was about breaking apart. And growing. And learning. And loving. And breaking more, deeper. Because of the intensity of the whole year, I'm not sure how I could even begin to summarize it into a post.

So I'm not even gonna try.

What I am gonna do is start writing again. (Or at least that's gonna be the thought behind all this :P ) Because where I've been doesn't define me, but it has shaped me and helped to make me into who I am. So that will flow into my writing.

And so, as spring begins again--as the trees start to bud, and the bulbs start to poke through, and some of the brave, little flowers bloom. And as the air becomes (eventually) warmer, and the sun shines a little more intensely and longer--my fingers are ready to write about my ramblings, thoughts, amusements, and life...again. So, hello again, blogging buddies :)

Broken.

Spring has always been one of my favorite seasons. The blooming flowers, budding trees, gentle rain, sunshine, and warm breeze--all of it fills me with hope and inspiration. It invigorates me. It breaths renewed life and a sense of expectancy into my heart. It reawakens a part of my heart that seems to rest during the long, cold winter months.
But this spring= aroused itself and found me with crying eyes, and a heavy heart. It burst forth, ready to renew the world, only to stumble upon me, with my world...broken. It awakened to my grief, mourning and heart-ache for the death of an honored and admired friend. To the deep hurt and pain for his little boys, his wife, his mom and dad, his sister, his brother and his friends.

It awakened to me broken.

Instead of the joy that usually comes as I breath in the spring air, I didn't seem to smell at all. My eyes seemed to not see the world vividly, my ears didn't hear the birds, my heart didn't find hope. Everything seemed covered in greyness; blanketed by sorrow.

After sometime, a deep part of me began to rise up; it began to remind me of the faithfulness of God, to remind me of the promises that had been made. To remind me that the sun would shine again, the hope would come again, the joy would spring forth again. And, my heavy heart was beckoned into a place of rest, like a child caught up in their mother's arms at the end of a long day of running around. The promise wasn't that I would not grieve, it was simply that there were arms to hold me. But even so, the world didn't seem to have the beauty it once held.

...And then, just like that, standing in the middle of the rain, my eyes opened, and my heart gasped. Before me was a world stunningly beautiful. Absolutely vivid.
A world that blended color so perfectly, a world that hoped, and a world that held the hope of restoration...even among the ruins.

A like a small whisper, it came.

"Everything breaks to live. The wholeness and life flows from the once broken place. The very season that brings you so much hope, is full of brokenness."

That cannot be. I try my best to prevent breaking. I watch my step so that I don't trip. I keep promises so I don't break trust. I guard my heart and hold high standards so I don't suffer heartbreak. Yes, I grasp at any control that makes me feel like I can prevent breaking. Spring holds the hope of healing...right?

"Everything breaks to live..." The words repeated back to me. Yes, maybe spring held the hope of healing, but was it truly full of brokenness?


For a flower to bloom, a bud must break.
For a bird to spread it's wings and fly, and sing, an egg must break.
For a gentle warm rain to fall, the clouds must break.
For the sun to shine and the wind to blow, the overcast sky must break.
For a caterpillar to become a beautiful butterfly, the cocoon must break.
For springs to flow forth and streams to flow, the ground must break.

Spring, so full of hope and life, is full of broken things; things that broke to live.

One was broken by the world, for the world. His side was pierced, broken, until blood and water flowed from His side. His skin was ripped and broken by a whip in the hands of men that hated him. His brow was broken by a crown of thorns.
His very life, broken, for the world.
So that, from his death, He would live eternally, giving hope and that same life to the world. Yes, the world that hated him; A world separated from His father's love.

Why?

Because He loves them.

So, even spring is testifying of the resurrection power for Christ.

Still, my heart breaks. It's still broken for the pain of those who are hurting, mourning and grieving. It's humbled by the love that Joel. And because of that, it's found a deeper love. Now it's also broken for the world; for the people so far from the plans of God, yet so loved by Him. And it is broken at the mercy, grace and passionate love He has for them. It breaks because they desperately need the hope I've found; They desperately need salvation.

It breaks with LOVE.

Yes, even for those who hate, even for those who kill.

Broken. Broken. Broken.

For from brokenness flows hope, love, restoration, redemption and...Life.

Many have been waiting to hear, and not wanting to ask....

So, finally, here is the blog I promised....explaining, but not defending my decision.

No. I'm not going back to Millersville University this spring. Yes, it has only been a semester. No, I don't have bad grades. No, I didn't fail out. Yes, I enjoyed myself. Yes, the program there is wonderful! No, I'm not anti-social and don't know how to make friends. Yes, it was hard, but not impossible. Yes, it was exactly where I needed to me....(wait...why are you leaving again??)

Alright, let me try my best to explain.

There comes a point where everything we can see fails us--that the call in our hearts no longer makes sense to us--but we still have a choice; to follow that calling, or to ignore it. And then, sometimes, I think I have it figured out. It's one of those times that I say, "Oh, I get it! This calling doesn't make sense, but here, I'll slap my logic onto it, and it will turn out like this! See, now it makes sense!"

Silly me. Will I ever learn that my ways simply are NOT His ways??

But anyway, that didn't really answer the questions that I began with. So, let's back up to January of this year....

January- I really wasn't planning on attending college, let alone Millersville. I don't know why, I just didn't want to. I certainly didn't think that the things that I wanted to do in college were a possibility, because I just didn't think I was good enough.

February- Well, God starts to move in my heart, and I begin to want to go to college, so I apply to Millersville University...a place close enough to home that I can be with my family, but still not a community college. I'm accepted as an undeclared major. (I still didn't think I'd be good enough for what I really wanted to do.)

March-On a whim (that could have only been a "God-Prompting") I email someone from the music department at Millersville to see if there's any chance since I've never been classically trained in music. I figured that way I can always say I tried. The email I receive back was from Dr. Houlahan, Chair of the music department--He wanted to get a phone number to call me. I'm on the phone with him within 10 mins. On that call, he does a brief interview that included me singing to him, concludes that I can indeed sing, and right away emails one of the voice professors to set up lessons to prepare of my audition into the music department. Meanwhile, because it was required, I submit my application to the music department, but Dr. Houlahan has reassured me that, as long as I can pass the audition, I'll be accepted.

April- I go once a week to MU to prepare for my auditions. Professor Sims worked with me (did I mention for FREE) so that I would be prepared. They were some of the best voice lessons I have ever taken.

May-I audition (past the deadline) into the music department at MU, formally interview with Dr. Houlahan, and am officially accepted into the program I didn't think I was good enough for.

Whew...The story isn't even over yet.

June, July, and the beginning of August are filled with excitement for what's in store, for what's coming next, and an underlying peace remains in my heart; I know that this is right.

End of August- orientation....(drum roll) ALRIGHT!!! CAN I LEAVE COLLEGE BEFORE I START...and the overwhelming anxiety, that I've fought so hard to contain, breaks loose and I wonder what on earth I'm doing at this school, in this program. And I'm scared to death. BUT...but...I KNOW that this is right still. This is where I need to be. To leave, would be to deny the calling. So I stay, and I begin the journey of college. The peace remains deep within my heart, which reassures me that this. is. right. (you can read a post from that time)

And so I journeyed through college and settled into the rhythm and pattern of life as a collage student. But I wanted to leave. And I knew, absolutely knew, that I couldn't.

I don't quit. I just don't. That's not programmed into me. I don't take the easy way out. I don't just do what the crowd does. And to leave then, wasn't an option. Because, to me, leaving just because it was hard, wasn't even an option. I knew I had to stay. And I knew that God wanted me to stay. And He wouldn't tell me how long I had to stay. Just that for now, for this moment, I had to stay.

And mid-October rolled around, and I suddenly realized that I could do this! No, it wasn't easier. But I could do it. And I was learning things left and right, about music, about me and about God. And I was staying.

And so, I stayed. And I committed to doing my best, whatever that looked like, committing my heart to being there, and did just that.

So November rolls around...and I begin to think of leaving. Not because it was too hard. Not because I wasn't good enough. Not because I couldn't do it. But because I wasn't sure that that was where I was suppose to /stay/. But I kind of talked it out with my parents, but just couldn't make sense of why God would have called me to some place and all of the sudden ask me to leave...It didn't make sense in my mind. So, I wrestled with it. And struggled through it. And prayed a lot for wisdom.
But as I wrestled, God began to bring up lessons that I was learning, or had learned in this semester of college; lessons far to vast for me to type out and put down in a blog. Lessons that included, but were not limited to, God's absolute provision, above and beyond my expectations. how the little things in life really make life sweeter. How to choose to see things through his eyes and perspective. How to lean on him, every moment of every day. How faithful and good he is. How He so desperately wants to be my support and is so ready to give me the strength to face the day and breath encouragement and life, if I'd only ask. Lessons of peace, patience and joy. And on and on...


And only after I acknowledged all these lessons (and was really impressed that God has done all that so gently and without my knowing), did He begin to give me the understanding that to learn all these lessons, about me, about Him, about life, it would be easiest (not to be confused with easy) if I was at school, where I had to be in the middle of the very things that would leave me flailing around, trying to keep from drowning, and, in turn, push me closer to Him.

So, yes, that is what led to this decision. And yes, it was INCREDIBLY difficult to make. But somehow, I thought that making the decision was the hard part, but I realized that it really didn't get easier...those questions as the beginning are the typically asked (or unasked, but wanted to be asked) questions that I deal with now. I'm also now going to be working full-time, and starting to build my cleaning business (which is another whole story :) )

And there is so much more I could share, but since this post is growing incredibly long, I hope that you have a very merry and blessed Christmas and holiday season!

Lessons from a...tree...

Our house like so many others, have traditions, especially around Christmastime.

For as long as I can remember, my family has had a tradition that on December 1st we "set up Christmas". We begin our time with dancing to Big Fat Santa and Santa Clause is Coming to Town (and as the years move on, my younger siblings have started to request that the shades get shut so the neighbors can't see :P ) After that, we set up the decorations. We don't go "all out", the front of our house doesn't really "look" like Christmas, but inside we decorate with items that, might not be the "best" but that have character and meaning; Our advent calendar that even have been enjoyed by the dogs (hence the teeth marks) and that we rotate who gets to put the piece on to count down the days until Christmas, the stars that hang from our dining room light, given to us by our Grandma from her dog, Star. The cookie cutters in red and green, shaped like bells and stars that no one knows where they came from. The wooden nativity that half the pieces are officially MIA. The big red bow around the mail box.The garland and poinsettias hung above our fire place, concealing the hooks that we hang our stockings on, stockings that were knit by our Grandma. And our tree. That itself is a tradition. We all go down and carry up our "artificial" tree (only we've all gotten much older and can't fit 2 people plus a big box through the doorway). And then we go back down and carry up our box of ornaments. Each of us have our own that contain ornaments dating back to our first Christmas. And then the "set up". Every year, without fail, we argue over who gets "call out" the instructions. And after that little argument is resolved we go to work putting all the branches on, mom strings the the lights on and put the top on, daddy puts the star (that's far to heavy for the poor tree) on, and all the kids put our ornaments on, or at least as many as we can fit :P

But slowly those things change a little. They're still there, but instead of just mom writing down a name for the "caller of the instructions", last year she added "or so and so's boyfriend/girlfriend", which we all thought was funny, but I realized that it's TRUE. Last year it was quite possible that that would be the case, and it really is this year.

And as I sat, processing through the bittersweetness of this season, coming to terms with the fact that my childhood is over, that the "normal" my heart has been holding out for just isn't going to come back, I looked--really looked--at our tree. And thought about how UGLY it is.

I mean, this tree is so...artificial. So very, very ugly. And every year when I help set it up I think, "wow...time for a new tree soon??", but that night, sitting there with the lights glowing and the ornaments decorating it's (flimsy) branches, and the star dimly glowing, I smiled. Because that tree is one of the most beautiful and festive trees I have ever seen. It has character and it's ugliness all but disappears with the love that is symbolized by the ornaments. It's been part of our family, and has our memories attached to it. And I laughed, because suddenly, something so hideous, turns out to be the most beautiful, most really, most authentic.

...And to those ones...

...The ones who fight. Valiantly.The ones who pick up the defense of those who cannot fight for themselves. The ones who have vowed to win...or die trying. The ones who understand and acknowledge that defeat is not an option anymore. To the brave, the dedicated, the loyal, the unsung warriors.
To the same ones who have lost sight of the victory. To the ones on their knees, in surrender of all they've fought to gain. To those who have surrender their sword at the request of the enemy, because they see no other way. To the ones who have come to believe the lies. To the ones that don't see their worth, their value, their honor. To the ones who have forgotten the quest; forgotten who they are.

I speak to the targeted, zoned in on, and attacked warriors. I speak to the men of this generation-my generation.


Your pain is not longer hidden, unseen, tucked away. Your fight is no longer just on your shoulders. One has come, ready to fight for you.

You have not failed; falling is not failing, it's just a chance to rise. You are not worthless, or unworthy, you are still called and chosen. Don't believe the lies, remember the light-the glory-that is rightfully yours. Choose to trust, even in the unseen. Choose to believe, the truth.

Brave hearts, don't forget your quest. don't forget the call. fight on. You will win if you fight.

Josie's Song

One of the things I love doing is telling stories. Sometimes, I write stories about my life, sometimes I write metaphors, sometimes I write about someone I wish I was, and sometime I write about people. People who's life-story has impacted me, or who don't have a voice, or that amaze me. I firmly believe that everyone has a story, and every story should be told. It saddens when I hear people say that they don't have a story, and I wish I could show them that they do. That they have a story that isn't finished, a story that does impact the world, that does make a difference. But that's kind of a rabbit-trail to the real reason I'm blogging.

I wanted to write about someone who I've never meet, but I've heard about, seen pictures of, and prayed for. A young girl who, right now, is half way across the world, (hopefully) sleeping. A little girl named Josie.

Josie lives with a foster family in China. They love her dearly and have taken wonderful care of her, but she didn't have a forever family...until recently.

Dear friends of mine have been on the journey of adoption. Within the past 3 years, they have brought home two adorable little girls from China, but their hearts were stirred again, and they have listened. After quite some time, lots of prayer, uncertainty, fears, and joy, they have (finally) been matched to this little girl who captured their hearts on one of their previous visits to China!

So, that's the history. Now, this week as I was running, I was thinking, talking to Abba, and just listening to my music. As I listened to the words of the song that was playing, I was singing along. It's one of my favorite songs; one that gives me hope. But as I listened, Josie came to my mind. And as I listened again to the song, I felt like this was Josie's song.

Josie, I've never met you, yet I feel like I know you somehow. As I think about you, I really feel like you have the heart of a warrior, the spirit that is humble and merciful and thankful. Yet you have a strength that will overcome. You heart is full of faith. In my heart, I don't doubt that you will walk someday, unassisted because of your faith, that you will overcome the odds and what this world says you can do, and do it, because you believe. Faith that can move mountains, quiet peace. And when that day comes, there will be much rejoicing, yet I have a feeling that you will do it, not to prove them wrong, but rather simply because you trust. As this song plays, I thought of you. I cannot wait to meet you! Praying it's soon. Keep the faith, hold onto hope, and continue to trust.

Love, Lissie




What Faith Can Do by Kutless

Everybody falls sometimes
Gotta find the strength to rise
From the ashes
And make a new beginning

Anyone can feel the ache
You think it's more than you can take
But you're stronger
Stronger than you know

Don't you give up now
The sun will soon be shining
You gotta face the clouds
To find the silver lining

I've seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn't ever end
Even when the sky is falling
I've seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand new
That's what faith can do

It doesn't matter what you've heard
Impossible is not a word
It's just a reason
For someone not to try

Everybody's scared to death
When they decide to take that step
Out on the water
It'll be alright

Life is so much more
Than what your eyes are seeing
You will find your way
If you keep believing

Overcome the odds
You don't have a chance
(That's what faith can do)
When the world says you can't
It'll tell you that you can

Even if you fall sometimes
You will have the strength to rise