Hope

                "What if the defining moments of our lives are the ones that we embrace the pain, the sorrow, the anger, or the disappointment? Not so that it controls us, but so that it can chisel us into a masterpiece. For there is a beauty inside of those things; a richness that comes from experiencing all of life. Yes, our joy deepens after we have drank deeply from the spring of loss. We stand, choosing to love, even though we understand  how broken our hearts can be when we chose to return love for hate. 

To experience pain is to be alive; for pain is as universal as love, and love is something any living heart can feel."

             My thumbs ran across the keyboard of my iPhone as I walked and jotted that memo months ago. Something keeps drawing me back to it. It's been quite the journey since then. One that has had it's mountaintops and it's valleys. Yet, in those valleys--in those places that I'm so tempted to give into the despair of the moment, and accept defeat and discouragement as the only way out--I remember that even the hard times have a purpose. 

           Maybe I don't see the end right now. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel seems to have been switched off. Maybe I hurt, and ache, and wonder. But you know what? That's okay.  Because, in these place of intense "yuckiness" (and yes, I made that officially a word ;) ), I've come to realize that my character is being made deeper, stronger, more lovely, more sure, and more desperate for the truest source of Life. 

           These things will pass. Some will leave me with scars, while others will be quickly fleeting. But I hope that I will allow them to help develop my character, my perseverance, and my hope. Because life, all of life, really is worth living.

"... we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame..." (Romans 5:3-5)

The Tale of a Tire

"I'm so thankful I got a flat (tire) today!"

That was what I said to my parents when i got home from work today. Perhaps that seems like a strange thing to be thankful for, so allow me a couple minutes to explain:

My gut reaction, when my (amazing) client came in to tell me that my tire looked flat was, "are you kidding me?? that doesn't fit into my plans at all today!" But after a took a few (meaning, a LOT) of deep breathes, I realized that there was a new way to look at this situation. And as I pondered how I could possibly be thankful for something so inconvenient, I realized this:

This wasn't a nuisance to my day, it was a chance to say 'I trust you, God'. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was thankful for that flat tire. Because without it, I wouldn't have had the chance to set aside my "perfect" plans and trust God.

Smiling to myself, I put some air into my tire and prayed that it was a slow leak so I could make it back to town to get it fixed.

45 minutes later, and the air was still holding. YAY!

Finishing my cleaning job, I drove to the tire service store in the neighboring town (to mine). Talking to the (super, duper helpful and friendly) guy at the counter ( ;) ), I told him what I needed and then sat down to wait.

Doubt began to sneak in, as I realized how hungry I was, how much I wanted to take a nap, how much I still had to do. but instead of dwelling there, I chose to say, 'I trust You.' Moments later, that trust would be put to the ultimate test....(insert intensity building music)

"...We can't fix your tire. There's excessive dry rot in that tire, the other front tire won't pass inspection (due in 4 weeks), and the back tire has a hole in it."

Uh-oh. I might not know very much about cars, but standing in that garage (where a *strange* amount of mechanics stood watching me), I grasped that I was gonna be forking out some cash today.

Still the words, 'I trust You' flowed through my head and into my heart. Walking back inside to discuss the options, peace quelled the panic of half-the-stuff-he-just-said-i-dont-understand-and-now-he-is-gonna-want-a-LOT-of-money.

As it turns out, I got two new tires, and a plug in the back tire. and, of course, paid all those mechanics for their time (although it didn't seem that hard to stand there and watch a guy explain to me that the first 2 numbers refer to the week of the year, and the last 2 to the year the tire was made in ;) )Then it was off to the gas pumps to fill my (almost empty) tank. (oh and did I mention that before inspection I'll be dealing with a catalytic converter issue?)

Yet, as I walked in the door, I told my parents I was thankful for this all. Why? Because Jesus gave me many, MANY, chances today to move into a deeper trust; a trust that's willing to say, "Today I give you my body, mind, and heart. I give you my moments and my time. I trust that you have plans for GOOD, and not evil....and I trust that you'll give me lots of oxygen for the deep breathes I'lll have to take when I'm not sure I can trust you. :P"

So I am thankful for my flat tire today. I'm thankful that I have a good job with money to pay the bill. I'm thankful that the dry rot was caught before my tire blew (or whatever bad thing happens with that...). I'm thankful that I have first-world problems to complain about, not third-world crisis'. I'm thankful for the kindness that the mechanic showed me, and patience, in explain the options to me. I'm thankful for amazing clients who look out for me. I'm thankful for quick-ness in fixing the problem. And, mostly, I'm thankful that today I had another chance to move deeper into the lesson of redefining what trust looks like in my life--one baby step (or flat tire) at a time!

In the shadow of the cross...

I cannot imagine the insurmountable disappointment, grief, sorrow, bitterness and anger that the crowd, huddling at the base of the cross, must have felt. These are the people who had waited and believed that this was the One; the promised savior. Yet, here he hung. Nailed to a tree, blood and water mingling as they flowed down his side.

I can only imagine that his mother, standing near by, was being torn apart inside. I'd like to think that she knew that her son was different; that he was sent to save the world. But, I also imagine that-- seeing her son, whom she carried inside of her for nine months and brought into the world in a stable, whom she held in her arms and rocked to sleep, whom she raised and loved and cherished, flogged and beaten until the his bones were exposed, mocked and despised by those who had once followed him, crucified to a cross, and pierced in the side with a spear--she was crying out, "Lord, did it have to be this way?"

I know the end of the story. I know that His death wasn't the end. Yet, if I was standing there with the crowd, it would certainly seem as if the story had ended in an abrupt and cruel way. I'd like to think that something deep inside of me would have enough faith to still trust and believe everything Jesus said was true, but those things seem like they would be far away. I'm afraid I'd hang my head, and walk away; let down again.

Yet, surely, something did end that day. With the words 'it is finished', He ended the eternal divide between Yahweh and us. With His last breath, He paid the debt for our transgressions. When he died, he split the curtain of separation; the holy of holies could now be entered, through his blood, by us.
With his death, He bridged the chasm that kept us from God. And He did all of it because He loves us. Because He wants to be with us. Because He knew that the penalty for sin is death, and, without the sacrifice being fulfilled, we couldn't be with Him.

He did what it took to get close to us. Even dying a horrific death.

And it makes my heart stand in awe of who He is. In the shadow of the cross, on that day, in the blackest of black, in the darkest night, death surely seemed to reign. Yet, in that moment, life, also, burst forth; life that forever ended death.

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!