Choose Only Those Who Deserve

Nearly weekly from February 22, 2011 until August 5, 2013, I had the pleasure of getting my butt kicked by a brilliant and creative woman named Lauren. There were arguments and agreements, both avoiding and making eye contact, hours of silence and lots of talking. She was that person three yards past you who tells you to take a deep breath and try again each time you slip while climbing your mountain. She was that person who tells you when you've got spinach stuck in your teeth. She was that person who starts to dance whenever she sees you truly smile. She was exactly the therapist I needed. 

Sometimes she would talk and I would listen. One time, it was about buckets. BUCKETS.

We all have a bunch of buckets that we need filled. Sometimes we can fill our buckets, but more often, we let people into our lives to help fill our buckets. 

We need to be listened to.

We need to feel useful.

We need to be deeply, passionately cared about.

We need to feel special, important.

We need advice.

We need to be distracted.

We need to be sassed around.

We need to be reminded what we care about.

We need to be pushed.

We need compassion.

We need each other.

Butttttt, here's the kicker...two kickers really. (1) One person, no matter how special, cannot fill all out buckets. That's just how life is. We are complicated, complex beings with many complicated, complex needs. That means we need intimacy with more than one person. Your parent's might have advised you against putting all your eggs in one basket...this is the same thing. Don't expect each person you love to fill all your buckets. They can't. (2) Not every person we encounter gets a try at filling our buckets. And not every person we love gets a try at filling each bucket. This doesn't need to be trail and error. That just plain hurts. To put your needs, your heart on the line with every person and hope they don't let you down. You get to choose who deserves to try. You get to choose who deserves to come in contact with each piece of your heart. There are some people you love dearly who will never get to know the deepest hurts of your heart. Not because they aren't wonderful people but because however you need them to respond, they can't. And that's perfectly okay. Just promise me you won't go through your life spilling your heart out or hoping one person to meet all your needs, no matter how perfect they seem. It just won't work. It's not cynical. It's sane and it's fair.

Love yourself fairly.

Love each other fairly.

Bundle

GOOD MORNING!!!!! It's 6:25am and I'm up and ready to run. This should come as no surprise to those in my daily life but friends from high school and family might have a more difficult time conceptualizing this.

The road is calling me...

for 20 miles.

With 18 under my shoes from last weekend, I'm not scared about the mileage. The body achieves what the mind believes. I'm more concerned about the cold. Some [uninvited] cold front slammed St. Louis in the face on Friday with low 40-degree temps and pouring rain. Kelsey and I were supposed to do our 20 that afternoon but when we realized that the rain was enjoying being released from the clouds and had no desire to stop, we quite literally called for a raincheck. So now it's Sunday morning and I'm meeting Kelsey in 30 minutes and it's still cold. Say goodbye to the tanktops and booty shorts I've trained in up to this point. I'm trading them in for 1/4 zips and leggings. 

Last night, Kelsey and I did THE GLOW RUN with our friends Eric, Claire, and Beth. Again, it was very very cold--hello under armour turtleneck. It was an excuse to wear neon and glitter and a time for others to appreciate my glow-in-the-dark shoes. Check that off the bucket list. 

Today, I've got friends racing while I'm training. Kelly Trom is kicking 26.2 in Chicago and Caroline Usher and Anna Borys are pulling out 13.1 in St. Charles, MO. Oh, and my financial aid rep is running the half in St. Charles too--we're buddies, we talk about these sorts of things. 

RUN strong.

Fully happy with just half

**I wrote this but forgot to post almost a month ago

Ran a half marathon today.
13.1 miles
Anticipated miles 1-3.
Whined miles 4-9.
Smiled miles 10-13.

after the race

Maureen, Wilson, me, Annie

before the race

me, Maureen, Annie

yes, I have neon green tennis shoes...they have blue glitter shoelaces too 

I've written before about my addictive personality. Well, I'm addicted. I LOVED the training and getting up to have a long Sunday morning run with 15,000 of my closest friends was pretty stinking cool. I especially liked the part where I got 2 bananas at the end. 

States of blindness

My sophomore year of high school, I had some very strange heath problems going on. Part of that situation involved being completely blind in my left eye and about 75% blind in my right. You didn't know that, did you??! It's all better now, don't worry, but it lasted about a year and it made those 10 months absolutely miserable.

Until that year, I had perfect vision so I knew what it was like to see clearly. But  being legally blind meant that I couldn't see clearly at all. I could see light and basic shapes and if I tried really hard with a large font, I could manage to read what was absolutely necessary. I couldn't see what everyone else could see. And what I could see did not come easily. Each day as my eyes opened from sleep, they were immediately stressed into trying to see what they couldn't. I wanted so desperately to see clearly again.

Now that my physical eyesight has recovered, I'm afraid I still cannot see clearly.
I cannot see myself the way others see me.

You tell me you love me and 

my automatic thought is "why?"

I've been told repeatedly that I'm very likable and she enjoys spending time with me

but I don't understand what makes me likable or why she'd enjoy our time together.

When I was visiting my parents a few months ago, 

my mother called me pretty for the first time I can remember 

and it felt sooooooooooo weird. 

Yesterday afternoon, I was chatting it up with a former professor turned mentor/friend briefly mentioning something I am applying for and she asked me how I felt about it--I said I thought I wasn't worthy of the opportunity. She cast a downward gaze as she shook her head and chuckled. I've gotten that response from people many times before when I say similar things. The underlying message of the looking down, head shaking, chuckle is "Em, that's ridiculous. You've gotta see how much you have to offer." Yesterday I asked what the chuckle was about and she simply said "you are so wrong and I want you to see what I see in you."

Why can I know that's what others think

but not believe it myself?

What happened to keep me from believing, 

really believing?

Why can't I see myself as others see me?

The super rational part me me answers that saying that they just don't see me honestly--they see the positive things they want to see and ignore the not so great things that I cannot deny.

To an extent, that may be right, but there are people in this world who know all my crap--as much of it as I am aware of myself--and still think much better about me than I do.

What is keeping me from believing I'm loveable...or even just likable? 

What am I afraid of? 

I want SO DESPERATELY for my eyes to open.

I want to see in myself what others see in me.

I want to see myself clearly--to accept it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

This blindness is so much like the blindness I struggled with five years ago. 

I know I'm missing out. 

New Semester. Old Issues.

I HATE CHANGE.

really.

really really.

I really hate change.

But the ruler of the universe doesn't seem to care.

what's up with that?!!

The change of classes and professors isn't the issue here. It's friends leaving. shocker, I know. it's not like we haven't gone through this before. 

Try this dialectic on for size: Sure, I have abandonment issues, but I know this isn't about me.Yeah, I'm gonna miss 'em, but I know this is what's good for them.

Still, I liked things how they were. I liked it when we were all here.

I have this group of best friends. There are five of us and though we are rarely all together, we are always with one another. We've memorized each other's work and class schedules and schedule in "best friend time" on our google calendars. And when we aren't physically together, we are still textually connected (and emotionally, of course). In fact, Annie figured that for each hour she and I spend apart, we have a minute of phone conversation--this hypothesis was proven over the two weeks we were with our families during this past Christmas. We weren't always best friends--none of this 'we grew up on the same block and have been friends since kindergarten' business. It was gradual and, for the most part, natural. I could tell you stories about the precise prompting event that led me into friendship with each girl. Annie--crossroads class. Claire--texting pranks. Amanda--well, actually, I don't remember, Erin--living next to (and then with) each other.

Erin is in Ecuador. Awesome, right? She and I have bonded over our love of the Spanish language and, more specifically, the Latin American people and culture. We had hoped to travel to Nicaragua for a two-month immersion trip this summer (the scholarship got cancelled so that's not happening, don't worry, you haven't missed anything that big).  Some "plans" didn't work the way we expected and that resulted in Erin's decision to study abroad this semester.

Studying abroad is awesome. And I'm fully for it. But I don't like that it's taking one of my best friends to the southern hemisphere for and extended period of time. Fact is, I miss Erin. And she's only been there since Saturday. 




Person leaving #2: Fr. James Vioss, SJ
Much of my reason for being so absent from the blogoshpere this past semester has to do with this very fine man and his very fine class entitled 'Sources and Methods of Theology.' That's a fancy way of saying 'read this 400 page book written for Ph.D. students on the doctrine of the Trinity, understand it, and come up with a way to make it integral to your final project, which we will start during the second week of class.' And if you don't understand that description, it has also been called 'hell.' The class is a research seminar required of all junior theology majors and it is well-known for being the most difficult class in the major coursework.

Fr.Voiss keeps the class small (we had 6 students in the class) so he can offer each of us personal attention. He requires us to meet with him two or three times outside of class...I probably went to see him ten times. You sat and talked about life for 5 minutes then about class for 3 then about your paper for 5 then more about life and spent quite a bit of time staring at each other, trying to read the other's facial expressions. I cannot even tell you how many times he'd be smirking and I'd ask 'what's that face for?'

This was the first class I've had during my collegiate career that has actually challenged me.I've had classes that required a lot of work and some that took a bit of reflection but nothing like this. Fr. Voiss quickly tuned into the range of my abilities and was not about to let any of it go unused. There was one Friday in October when I cried in all of my classes because I was so stressed about an assignment due for Fr. Voiss that evening. There was a time I shed tears in our own class when he gave us a revised syllabus outlining all the work for the rest of the semester. It seemed like one class period I would be so angry and frustrated with Fr. Voiss that I was about to explode and cause a scene and the next I would tell him he was a great man and I loved him. Confused? I was.

We turned in our final projects on December 12 and on the 22nd, he emailed us telling us his provincial had requested his transfer to a province in the Northwest. Once again, I cried.

It was a rough class but I learned so much and I am a better student and theologian for having taken it. NO ONE can teach that course the way Fr. Voiss did. I am so incredibly grateful for having taken the course this semester and for being pushed and pulled the entire way.

I wish I had realized sooner how great I had it. I want to make an effort to be more present to the good, more grateful for the challenge, and less stressed about the inevitable.


People are indispensable. 
Experiences only occur once. 

1.4

There were 43 teenagers entrusted to my general care and 12 that were specifically mine last week at SpringHill. I worked all last summer with middle schoolers so this was definitely different.

We always tell campers that we don't want camp to be a 1-week thing. We don't want to be known for creating a SpringHill high that eventually wears off.

No.

We want much more.

We want +1 experiences.

We motivate change.

As I was driving back to St. Louis last Sunday afternoon, I was talking on the phone with a friend and she asked how I was planning to use what I learned at camp. (What a strange question. Was I supposed to have learned something??? Uhhhh...) I told her I was still processing the week (and that was true, don't worry) so I wasn't exactly sure yet. 

I learned about community.

I know I've posted about this a few times but I say it once again, I learned that I need people. I'm a slow learner when it comes to these things, so God has to be super patient.

There was no one experience from the week that brought about this thought but rather the experience of the week. 

I came up to SpringHill without telling my friend Hayley who was working there this summer and feeling a really homesick (something I learned of after I agreed to come up, so the homesickness had nothing to do with my decision if you were wondering) and without telling Susie, a really good friend I worked with last summer who had returned for another summer of SpringHill Lovin'. I wanted to surprise them. I knew they'd have no idea and be caught totally off guard. 

I had campers who appreciated me for me and relaly respected me. I went to bed early on my night off and left a note taped to the cabin door that read "Dear Temple Dwellers: I'm sleeping. I love you but please be quiet. Love, Emily" Not only were these 12 teenage girls almost silent, they didn't even turn the lights on!

My small group wanted to know what I thought and how I came to think that and how they could share in the faith. My small group got really vulnerable early in the week and bonded in a way I hadn't expected. 

These were all experiences I had with people. Without others, none of these things could've happened. 

I'm learning I don't need to rely so much on being self-sufficient. It's okay to need help. It's okay to not be 114% totally on top of things all the time. 

God gave us people.

the girls of "The Temple" (I couldn't pronounce the name of our cabin, so we renamed it. It makes sense to us, I promise)

the journey is the destination

When I was on a home visit two weeks ago, I mentioned to my mother that I was thinking about graduating a semester early. If I don't take at least 18 credits a semester, I get bored and I could have all my requirements taken care of with just another semester and a half. Sitting at the kitchen table, as I walked to the faucet to refill my waterbottle, my mom said,"Emily, slow down. You've always been trying to rush life. You need to just let it happen." 

There an alarming truth 

and a bit of parental wisdom.

She's right.

I have a control problem. 

I also have a short attention span and a free spirit. 

From a very young age, I've seemed to focus on the end goal rather than the process by which I achieve said goal. During the years I swam competitively, I constantly had pieces of bright colored paper with numbers taped to various focal points in my bedroom. These numbers were my goal times for the season. I did not make step by step, short-term goals. I set a big ones that were far in the distance, far from my reach. The goals were always attainable but often not fully attained because I would become intimidated. I focused on what was ahead rather than what was right now. 

My friends Annie and Chris recently bought TOMS whose pattern reads "the journey is the destination." When Annie told me about the shoes, I liked the saying but I hadn't reflected on it until now. 

What am I missing by living in the future?

Why can't I just enjoy this moment?

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what I'll do after I graduate in two years--will I go straight to grad school or will I volunteer for a year like I wanted to after high school? Where will I go to grad school? Am I going to want a Ph. D. or can I settle for a masters? Will I ever move back to Michigan or is that history? When would be the ideal time to get married? I've been thinking of what classes I want to take to get the best education suited for the field I want to enter.

I always rush through life.

Fact is, I'm gonna miss this.

Someone told me that undergrad is the time when you're supposed to read. You're supposed to read everything you can get your hands on. You're supposed to take any class that sounds even remotely interesting. The classes you take the most of are what you'll graduate with a degree in but that's not something to put your focus on. You aren't expected to have it all figured out as an undergrad. You aren't supposed to be a grown up yet (reference my previous post to gain an understanding of the defining characteristics of grown-up-ness). I understood the words this person was saying but not the concept. As I have witnessed my peers in action for the past two years, it seems as though most of them have it figured out. Most know what they want to do with their life, or they at least have a solid idea, and most certainly know what they do not want to do. But tonight as I thumbed through the Curriculum Vitae of a few professors, I realized that this air of confidence many of my peers seem to exude about their future plans is a total farce. 

These professors are some of the most brilliant and fascinating human beings I have ever known. Both are theology professors. One studied political science at Yale in her undergrad...now she teaches theology. The other played football and studied religion and business administration. After graduation, he went on to successfully work in the business world until religious life caught his heart. Then, he became a Jesuit and furthered his education in theology at Yale, Notre Dame, Oxford, and in Rome. These people I have grown to admire and trust had absolutely no idea what their lives were going to look like when they were my age. They did what they wanted and let life happen. 

This is one of those things that is a choice--a daily choice--but its a decision that is completely up to me. One of the most common things my campers last summer heard me say was "I want you to learn to live in the moment." Good going Em, perhaps you need to listen to yourself. 

Let life happen.

Perhaps the most simple yet difficult task I've ever been charged with. 

"The beauty of the Christian tradition is that it holds grace and human finitude together." JHR

Behind door number 1...

I've been in Michigan for the past three days in anticipation of my brother's college graduation this weekend.  My plane landed on Monday at 6:02 pm EST and it all began...actually, it began on the plane.

A baby a few rows behind me was crying. Not just crying but wailing and I wasn't havin' it. I sat there and pressed my face against the window and closed my eyes..."Daddy, please comfort that child. Please just do whatever you have to do to make her stop crying. Daddy, I'll pray the entire flight if that's what it'll take too get you to make her stop. We can talk this entire time if she just stops." I got out my journal and began to write and simultaneously the baby's shrieks ceased. "Shoot. Well, okay. You've got me now. Since I said we could talk, I've got some things to say..." That was the first time in a long time that I prayed undistracted, 

My life has seen its fair share of bumps on the road in the past four months and I'm not really one to march into conflict head on. In fact, I have a tendency to run away from the tools that can help me. In this case, it was God. There was a dramatic shift. I went to daily mass for the past two years but in the past few months, there have been weeks when I found myself needing to be coerced into attending Sunday mass. I filled an entire journal (about 100 pages, front and back) in five weeks this fall but have only written about 30 pages in the past 10 weeks. Clearly, things got shaken up.

Being here this week, though, has reminded me of what used to be. You see, I've only been at my parents' house for about 12 weeks out of the last 2 years...104 weeks and I've been here. Because I go to school 700 miles away, I only make it home around the holidays when the dorms are shut down. I'm not complaining; I'm just offering perspective. This short period of time in Michigan means that I do not see my friends from "childhood" very often. When I do come home, I get to see a select few people for just a short period of time. Often these visits make or break my view of the trip.

That was a lot of background.

What I want to say is that this week, I've gotten a wake up call. Monday night I spent with my friend Claudia who I hadn't seen since August. It was clear that we hadn't seen each other or talked in awhile. As we conversed over dinner and continued at her apartment, it became clear to me that she had no idea where I was at. She knew about some of the bumps in the road but seemed to ignore the possibility that they had actually affected me. I'm not the same person I was when we last saw each other but she definitely expected me to be.

I don't really know how to decide if that's a good thing or not.
Maybe a little bit of both.

The next afternoon, I had lunch with Kim, a woman who used to work for my parents. She could tell that I had changed, that life had changed me. She listened and understood. Kim took me as I was. Then she took my hands and very directly told me to stop running. She reminded me of what my relationship with God used to look like and honestly told me that she knew that I knew running away wasn't going to get me anywhere and she knew that I wanted to turn around.

These aren't the only two. Since Monday evening, easily half a dozen people/situations have directed me to where I know I should be.

It's like God's been knocking at my door for the past two or three weeks and I acknowledged that He was there and I acknowledged my desire to open the door but I didn't. This week, I opened the door and let God explain why He's been knocking.

Words of the heart.

there is this girl named Annie

we are friends.

 it's intense.

like camping!

I love her.

a lot.

We became friends by having a class together last spring. Little did we know that class would bond us together this way. In the past year, we've grown into closer and deeper friendship. Annie has gotten to know my heart and my head...that is something to be applauded. She knows what makes me tick. She knows when I need to talk but don't want to. She knows how to push me without making me fall over. And if I do fall, she's had her hand outstretched waiting for me to take it since before I fell. 

Needless to say, I am blessed.

Annie knows she doesn't always have the right words to say but sometimes songs do and sometimes other people do. It is not uncommon for me to open a text message telling me to go youtube a song or open an email pointing me to a quote on pinterest. 

I don't know what I was going through when she sent me this 

(couldn't have been all that important if I didn't journal about it)

but it made me tear up.

I often refer to God as 'Daddy' (for a number of reasons) and I rarely see that anywhere but in my own heart. Yeah, lots of people begin prayers invoking 'Father, God' but it's not the same. A daddy is much different than a father. Clearly, it was a big deal for me to see the way this was "signed." Dad may not be the same as 'Daddy' but its pretty darn close--close enough for this to seem personal, rather than just another corny Christian things on the internet. 

I blogged on March 22nd (I looked it up. I promise I don't just freakishly remember these things) about how words don't mean a thing to me until they are followed by some type of action, and so I see how it seems a little inauthentic that I'm now telling you how much these words mean to me. 

It's not the words.

It's the action behind the words.

In order for those words to get to me, Annie had to be thinking of me. I doubt she was online frantically searching for something to give me comfort, but, instead, God brought her to these words and gave her the push to email them to me. Annie and God get mucho brownie points for making that touch my heart. I won't say it has nothing to do with the words. That'd be totally false, but I promise you that if I had just come across those words as I was surfing across the interwebbs it wouldn't be something I'd still be thinking about.

This speaks to my heart right here and now.

Gosh, dang it!

So, apparently, over time, things happen. Seems, simple, right? Wrong. Things happen. Whether we like it or not, things happen over time.

9 months after you get pregnant, 

you'll probably be giving birth.

8 years after you start kindergarden, 

you'll probably graduate 8th grade.

7 days after you go to church, 

you'll probably be going back.

6 months after you complain about the winter cold, 

you'll probably complain about the summer heat.

you get the point.

Time happens.

Things happen.

I don't like it.

Good things happen and bad things happen, yes, but when I say I don't like things happening, I'm not talking about the good v. bad. Rather, I strongly dislike when good things come to an end.

It has come to my attention in approximately the last 48 hours that a certain good things will be coming to an end in approximately 2 weeks. So, apparently, time doesn't care that I don't like it. 

Kelsey came to St. Louis in August  as an intern with Campus Crusade--a huge step of faith. She had just graduated from High Point University (NC) with a degree in interior design--not exactly something that feeds into ministry. Through God's intervention and my submission, I got involved with a Campus Crusade bible study on campus that she was co-leading with a student here. A few days after the first meeting I attended (and left early), I got an email from Kelsey saying: My name is Kelsey and I co-lead the small group at SLU with Tim. He gave me your contact information to contact you and see if you were possibly interested in meeting up with me sometime? I will be there on Tuesdays, and would love to just be able to sit down and get to know you better, talk about the Lord, and get into the word. If you are interested I would love to hear from you! I thought about it, I prayed about it. Long story short, I emailed her back 30 minutes later and that's when it all started.

We met the following Tuesday and shared our stories--the parts we felt comfortable enough to get vulnerable with--and we continued to share our stories, our faith, our struggles, and essentially our lives every Tuesday. We would go out for coffee and sit there for three hours and not think a thing of it. 

Ever since the beginning of our relationship I've struggled with thinking two things: 1. its Kelsey's job to hang out and like me and 2. what's the point, she's only going to be here a year. she'll touch my heart then leave just like everyone else.

Those two things have come up over and over but the relationship remains. If #1 was really true, I don't really think tears would have been shed when she found out painful things about my life or phone calls would be made over Christmas break. If I really believed #2, I wouldn't have stuck around with her. Simple as that...not really...those things have plagued me all year. Whatever.

Fact of the matter is, Kelsey is leaving in two weeks. 

Her year with Cru is up.

I may never see her again.

Wanna guess how my heart feels???? I was journaling about it this morning and even still, my heart is apprehensive. Not broken, not abandoned. I knew this was coming. I remember being on retreat in October and telling Kelsey through tears, that I wasn't going to let myself get close to her because she was just going to leave me like everyone else. She promised that she was going to be here for the year and it would be silly for me not to give her that year. 

I gave her the year...kind of. If you know me, you know I'm terribly difficult and stubborn and afraid of vulnerability. Translate that into discipleship and you get me avoiding certain subjects or saying I'm fine when I'm really not--you get secrets. Well, Kelsey broke through barriers I had set up. She didn't ask to know the secrets but found out on her own accord. And some of those secrets broke her heart...that's why they were secrets in the first place. 

Like I said, Kelsey broke down walls that very very few people break. She loved me in a way that I have never experienced before. She held my face and prayed for me as I was having an asthma attach and waiting for the ambulance in September and then sat in the ER waiting room for hours. She interrupted her staff meeting and talked to her staff team and even to her mom in hopes of finding me resources in December. Kels was never content with meeting me where I was at and chilling there. Very soon after meeting me, Kelsey understood my trust issues and realized that I wasn't going to willingly open up to her. So she opened up to me in hopes that I'd see I could trust her. A lot of the time, she'd meet me then push me forward. She challenged me every moment of my life..to make better decisions, to think before I decide, to love Jesus more, to listen to Satan less. Kelsey has been an indispensable part of this year for me. So many memories of this year include her in one way or another. Kels may be physically leaving, but she ignited in me a desire to be challenged and that will live on whether or not she is the one kicking my butt. I really hope she knows that. I'm really going to miss her.

I don't know if she'll ever see this. It doesn't matter. 

I don't know what's going to happen when Kelsey leaves St. Louis in two weeks. I'm doing my best not to make any expectations--high or low. 

I want the year to start over, gosh, dang it! I feel like I did it all wrong. 


Ecclesasties 3:1-8, 10
There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens: 
a time to be born and a time to die.
a time to plant and a time to uproot.
a time to kill and a time to heal.
a time to tear down and a time to build.
a time to weep and a time to laugh.
a time to mourn and a time to dance.
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them.
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.
a time to search and a time to give up.
a time to keep and a time to throw away.
a time to tear and a time to mend.
a time to be silent and a time to speak.
a time to love and a time to hate.
a time for war and a time for peace.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart. 

Healing

My friend Colleen wrote this poem. Let it tell you what it needs to.

Healing

I fear that I will turn into a shadow

Of the woman you created me to be

That consumption in a world of man's desires

Will blind me so my eyes no longer see

At times I let my earthly thoughts consume me

I turn to vice and let it move my deeds

But still, your hand I know is there to move me

Back to reaping grain from heaven's seeds

My eyes are often glazed by man's display

My ears sometimes exposed to ego's lies

My heart is touched at times by false desires

Masked in costumed truth, fear's great disguise

But then, I feel you moving deep within me

I see your mark again in human eyes

I hear your words ring out against deception

When hope and faith sweep in as heart's allies

Though I fear that I will turn into a shadow

Of the woman you created me to be

I trust that I am resting in your love

And you will heal my heart so I can see

-C. O'Connell-

Baby toys.

It's Holy Week and so I don't have school. 

Yayyyy!!

I have come to my friend Annie's house for these five days.

Yayyy!!

Part of being home with Annie involves seeing all the people that she loves here.

Maggie. Mom. Dad. Buddy. Izzy. Kevin. Ashley. Sarah.

those are the lucky ones who have seem us so far.

more will come.

lots more.

Let's talk about Kevin.

Kevin is the youth minister at a retreat house Annie spent time at in high school.

He has two daughters of his own and a bunch of other unofficially adopted kids like Annie.

So we went to visit Kevin at work yesterday. We sat in his office and talked for I don't even know how long. Kevin is hilarious and intense and thoughtful and loving and ohmygoodness. Talking with Kevin yesterday reminded me of talking with one of my campus ministers (Jude) in high school. It made me miss her a lot. 

Kevin shared stories of different one-acts and prayer services that he has put together for retreats, and let me tell you I was covered in goosebumps. :) Many of the things he shared touched my heart where it is at right now that's a tricky thing to do. But one, in particular, got me hard. Baby toys. 

Here's the gist: all the retreatants came into the chapel and took a seat. They were college kids and so many of them were deep in the college-life cultures--drunkenness, casual sex, mixed up priorities, etc. They were asked to think about their walk with the Lord and how the decisions they were making/the lives they were living fit with that or with what they wanted that to be. Then, one by one, the retreatants walked up to the altar and picked up a baby toy. Attached to each toy was a short blurb of a story about a baby who died, a child who never got the chance to live. 

This got me thinking. Every day there are tons of babies who die--from abortion or even natural causes--but for some reason, when I was born, I lived. I continue to live. What's with that? Why me? What makes me so special? 

yeah, that's me. yeah, i still have that bear i'm holding.

I don't know how to answer those questions, but I do know that it isn't fair for me to live this life as an entitlement. 

Life is a gift. 

End of story.

I have done nothing to deserve life. In fact, I have done many things that deserve just the opposite, yet, I continue to wake up each morning. There's gotta be something to that. There has to be some reason that I was chosen to be one of the babies who didn't die. 

Nonetheless, there are babies who did die. Those babies are people who never got a chance. I was given a chance. The whole point of the exercise was to get the students to see that their actions may not show their appreciation for that gift.

Mine certainly don't. I may not be getting drunk every week or doing that which is 'typical' sin of a college student but I am a mess. I am a hott mess of sin. Believe it or not, I am not perfect. Not even close. I make mistakes. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of them. Stupid ones. Ones I know are wrong. Sometimes I make mistakes and don't care. Fail.

I was given a chance. I need to care. 

Even if I don't care for any other reason, I need to care because there are plenty of other babies born on May 20th, 1991 that would have loved to take my spot and live it better than I am. I need to show that I want this spot in life that I've been given. 

Remembering my SHX

June-August 2010. Best Summer Ever. My SpringHill Experience. So hard but so good.

Call it whatever you want, but know that there is absolutely no way those 10 weeks can be understood that easily. What happened to me at SpringHill happens to a lot of people, but that doesn't make it any less special or any less important. I saw what love and acceptance looked like. I learned what it takes to develop friendships and I learned that sometimes God catapults two people into friendship without all that development. I was taught humility in the most practical ways possible. I could write a novel, an entire book-series, on my SHX and would still feel as though I was leaving things out. Every moment of those 10 weeks was supernaturally infused with meaning and purpose in such a way that I have never experienced before (and may never experience again).

I will swear to you that I had the best campers who came to SpringHill all summer. From the open vulnerability of all my girls on testimony night week 1.1 to a midnight one-on-one week 1.3 to Faith holding my hand all the time and Ellen asking me to pray with her right when I got back from the hospital week 1.4 to watching brokenness be washed away week 1.5 to reading Gigi the book of Phillippians because the bible was her favorite book and Phillippians was her favorite story week 1.6 to understanding a BWE of life during 1.7 and having a really deep one-on-one with Emily as we were tubing 1.8 and even being asked why I was so upset the day I had to leave.

My girls were the best.

There was never a time when I had to put on my law-enforcer pants during shower time or tell them twice that we can't walk back from the lake in towels. In the one week that each girl was at camp, there was a noticeable change.

I remember my one-on-one with Liv (Wednesday 1.7) and how her desire to know God totally flipped around and had exploded by the end of the week. On Wednesday she didn't have time and didn't want to make time for a relationship with God, it just wasn't that important, but by the weekend, she was telling her parents (who told their family friends whose daughter was one of my closest friends on staff) that it was the best week of her life and how it totally changed the way she viewed faith.  Liv had immersed herself in the SpringHill experience and let God renew her heart.

I remember getting back to camp from yet another trip to the hospital after yet another asthma attack and walking into the cabin right after the lights had been turned out. Annika siat up and said "You're like a chicken McNugget! We just prayed for you to come home and here you are! You're like fast food!" And as I made my way to my bed, Ellen whispered something to me asking me if we could talk. We sat on the bathroom floor and talked and prayed in the dark as the rest of the cabin was falling asleep. There are so many terribly precious moments with my girls.

Here's why my girls are really the best: they didn't peace out. Today is Faith's birthday and we're going to talk tonight. Ellen sent me a care package and two letters at school. Oh, and Ell and I have skyped and facebook chatted often. Jenni made me a bracelet and wrote me a letter. Stephanie and I did a Philippians bible study and went to mass together when I was home for fall break. Anna Grace and I went shopping and skype to procrastinate. This morning, Cheyenne emailed me about some of her recent struggles asking for help. Greer and Julie always ask me to come over when I am home. I was able to go see Liv play in a volleyball tournament over Christmas break. Paige texted me all the time the week her grandfather was being moved into a nursing home. I've been assaulted by hugs when I show up to Emily and Anna's school masses. I'm telling you, these girls are precious, they came into my life at camp and a lot of them have chosen to stay. I suppose they think I give good advice and am just fun to talk to.

I think my favorite thing about my SHX comes from a camper that wasn't even mine. Her name is Anna Grace and she wasn't even in New Fro (middle school camp center). She was working in the New Fro dining hall with the other TST (high school camp center) kids and happens to be a student at the rival high school of mine. One day as lunch was ending and I was putting my dishes away, she told me to stick my hand in the extra pudding before they threw it away. That's where it all started. I put my hand in the pudding, took it out, and chased her around trying to rub it on her face. For the next week, we smeared some kind of food on each other's faces every time we saw each other (at meals). We never really had a legit heart-to-heart but there was something there because one morning, she came running towards me as I opened to door. She stopped and took my hands and told me she had committed her life to Christ the night before. I didn't really know this girl at all but somehow I had made an impression on her. God had done something great in her heart, and, for some reason, she felt like I was an important person to tell about this. Anna Grace and I have become good friends by skyping and texting often since she left camp. The day before she left, she asked for my phone number and i wrote it on her arm but as it began washing off, she memorized it. By the time she got home and got her phone back, she had committed my number to memory. I was not her counselor. I was not even working in her camp center, but I was what she took from camp.

A SpringHill Experience is like nothing else in the world. Every person's is unique and special.

Kizoa slideshow: my SHX - Slideshow

My best friend, Franny

Yesterday, I found out that I have a best friend I never knew about. Her name is Francesca but I call her Franny (you can too). See now, my cousin reminded me of this friendship yesterday morning when she emailed me about a song Franny wrote for me. I promise you, I'm really not that bad of a friend. I really didn't know she knew me this well until I listened to the song. Listen in...

In all seriousness, it's super cool that the one song I've ever known to have my name in it speaks of things I speak about. Very cool people, very cool.

Just sayin'

Good

Yesterday was good.

I'm going to get a little theoretical philosophical for a minute, so please, bear with me. How does one define  'good'? As unoriginal as it sounds, I looked up the word in the dictionary and was absolutely stunned! There were over one hundred different definitions. 'Good' may honestly be the most complex four-letter word in the English language. Still, as I read through the attempts to define this word, this feeling, this thing I realized that there was no single way to define 'good; that is totally complete in itself.

This being said, the word good may be so complex that it has become utterly non-descriptive. I said yesterday was good but you have absolutely no idea what I mean...unless we already talked about my day...but that's cheating. When someone responds to the question 'how are you?' by saying 'good,' they might as well have not responded at all. The word good has so many meanings that it has become virtually meaningless.

Okay, I'm done with my etymological rant.

Here's the deal, 'good' might be the most unhelpful explanation or definition for something or someone but sometimes it is the only word that fits. Okay isn't positive enough. Great is too positive. What's in between? ...good.

Yesterday was good. Yesterday my alarm clock went off at 5:27 a.m. and I left for work at 5:46. Yesterday I knew all the answers to the questions on my Bible and Literature quiz for the first time all semester. Yesterday I got a piece of mail that I had been waiting for all week. Yesterday I ate lunch with my friend Anna for the first time in a long time. Yesterday my friend Emiley came to class with me...she's on spring break. Then, after class yesterday, Emiley and I got coffee and talked for 2 hours then went shopping.

Back up. Emiley and I talked for 2 hours. We sat in this coffee shop and talked and talked and talked for over 120 minutes. I suppose this doesn't seem all that out of the ordinary for two college-age women, but, oh, I promise you, it is something. First of all, the simple fact that I had 2 consecutive hours to sit down and talk is absolutely mind blowing. I wish there was a way I could publish a picture of my google calendar here for yall to understand what I mean. It's not necessarily a good thing but I am always busy. This, right now, is the first time I have had alone-time all week...other than when I am asleep. I go to class, and to work, and to practice, and to meetings, and to small group, and to mass, and to more practice, and to more work, and to bed...then repeat. Second, yall may not know the Emiley I was sitting with but you probably know this Emily (at least enough to know I'm probably wearing some yellow article of clothing while writing this). And if you know me at all or have creeped my blog at all, you have probably come to understand that I don't really like talking. I like writing. I like texting (a technological form of talking while writing but still not talking). I don't do small talk and there are only certain times when getting deep is something I'm willing to do. Third, I had been up since 5:27 and had been going going going all day. Work, run, class, class, pick up mail, lunch, homework, class...talk?? I guess.

So, you see now that I enjoyed this chat time but wasn't really expecting it to go so well.

Here's the kicker. Emiley has this look that can get me to tell her things. She's given me this look so many times that she doesn't have to even be looking at me for know that she's got the look. She could be in her own dorm room texting me and I'd know she's got the look. Yesterday the look came out. It came in tandem with the words "tell me something you don't want me to know." I don't know what you think about that request but I seriously thought she was kidding. Tell her something I don't want her to know??? Heck no! If I don't want her to know, I'm most certainly not going to tell her. Telling her would totally defeat me not wanting her to know. But she had the look. Unfortunately, there were a few things that floated through my mind at that time, a few things I didn't want her to know, that I had no intention of ever telling her. And those were precisely the things she wanted me to tell her. I told her one of them and she had me explain and it was AWKWARD. More awkward than the word awkward is to spell and look at. It was hard.

At first, I felt bad. I felt like she now knew this secret of mine and it wasn't any old secret. It was a secret that I wouldn't mind all that much for other people to know about but for her to know was unthinkable. The impossible is only impossible because we say it is.

Telling Emiley what I didn't want her to know was not something that I wanted to do but I liked it. I know that doesn't make any sense. Do you remember the childhood rhyme: secrets secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone? The truth will set you free. I am no longer held in bondage by that secret. The one person I didn't want to know now knows. The one person I thought would be most hurt by the secret knows. I survived. Emiley survived. Our friendship survived. Freedom lives on!

Last night was good too by the way. I listened to about three hours of convicting audio lessons on change. You can expect a post about that sometime soon.

xoxoxoxoxo Emily

Get Salty

I'm in Panama City, FL with some of my Wash U friends for spring break. We are hanging out at this beautiful beachside resort called Edgewater. WE are here for something called Big Break--it's a conference put on by Campus Crusade for Christ every spring break. There are over 1000 college students from across the country gathered at this single resort with a single mission: share the gospel. We have morning and evening sessions every day and during the afternoon we all go onto the beach and talk to people. Sounds easy enough, right? We just walk up to girls laying out and guys goofing off and talk to them, let them talk, listen to their stories, and share a little of ours. It's not the typical spring break saturated with alcohol and marked by walking around half-naked, but I'm sure we will remember more of it than those participating in those "normal" spring break activities.

More updates to come.

By the way, please keep a special intention of mine in your prayers. I am waiting for something to happen anytime between Sunday (yesterday) and Tuesday (tomorrow) and it has not happened yet but it realllllllly needs to. Just sayin'

By the other way, I heard it snowed 3 inches in St. Louis last night/today...so I'm not gonna complain that there are a few more clouds in the sky than I'd like today.

Happy day.
AMDG, Emily