The Day She Left Us

This is a post I have many mixed feelings about fulfilling.

It's my story, but at the same time it isn't.

It's my grief, it's my pain, it's my trauma.

It's the worst day of my life thus far, and I know it is shared with dozens of others.

A year has gone by with all of its seasons and changes and growth, yet almost every day of it has had an underlying aroma of November 9th, 2012.

Here is my story. It has never changed, it matches my police report seamlessly, and I refuse to fill in the gaps of my memory with assumptions or inferences.

I have changed the names of those involved so as to respect their privacy to my potential readers who do not know them. I will remove this post if they become aware of its existence and are uncomfortable with it.

I am writing this to externalize what happened, because for a year it has felt like something that happened within my very being and has never left. I wish to be free of the fear and the darkness that coat those memories for me. I want to grieve properly.

November 9th, 2012 was a Friday. I remember looking at my weather app a few days before and seeing that, after consistent forecasts of 90ish degree days, Friday was supposed to drop down to 72 degrees. The next day was supposed to be as low as 64! For Phoenix, this is a huge deal worth celebrating. The day came and it was as brisk as I eagerly expected. I also had a friend's wedding to go to after work that I planned on asking to leave early for.

Around noon, Luke brought Sybil to the house like he always did. Of course, we were all in the office busy with work (I worked for a family business run out of the older married owners Jack and Barb's home; Luke is their son in his 40s and was a close friend of mine). Sybil immediately began running around and squealing like she usually did --  like most three-year-olds do. He was dropping her off in order to go home, get dressed up, and officiate the very wedding I wanted to go to that afternoon. I hoped this would work in my favor in asking for the hour shaved off my work day.

In retrospect, it seems like every conversation we had while inputting this, printing off that, filing this away...they were all about Sybil. Barb, my co-worker Lisa and I talked about how Luke and his wife Lori waited so long (fifteen years) to have Sybil as their first child (their only child). The company salesman John commented lovingly on how cute Sybil looked that day ("I mean she's always cute but today she is just SO CUTE!"). She was playing with her toys in the kitchen next to the doorway into our office, and usually I just tried to ignore the distraction to focus on all the math I had to do as an accountant, but that day I stopped and watched her for a moment. I remember consciously thinking she reminded me of my precious niece Maddy, who was also three at the time. They shared the same mannerisms, speech patterns, and snuggly demands from people they approved of. Such a joy, such a gift, such a warm and comforting little tea light of a human.

I never had an intimate interaction with Sybil. We had played and tickled and made faces at each other over the years, but I know she didn't know who I was or had a name for me. But she reminded me of one of my most cherished humans, Maddy, and that was enough to award her a quaint little corner in my heart. I loved having her around, and I loved watching my dear friends Luke and Lori be her parents.

Around 2pm or so, Sybil's 'Papa' Jack took her outside to play with her. They did this all the time. She had a swing and toys out there, and Jack had even remodeled his backyard to feel like a garden around their pool for Sybil to enjoy. All I was actively thinking about at the time was when I should tactfully ask Barb, sitting in the desk across the room from me, if I could leave an hour early that day.

Around 3:30pm, my stress was elevated ever so slightly because the time was approaching to ask Barb if I could leave early for the wedding. I kept wondering how I should phrase it, when I should ask, if I should ask at all and just show up late, etc. Jack came in from outside and I heard him in the kitchen while I thought through all my strategies. From her desk, Barb casually said, "Jack you need to bring Sybil in for a nap or else she'll get cranky."

Sybil's still outside? And Jack is inside? She's outside alone?

"Yeah I know, I'll bring her in now." He went back outside.

I felt the smallest little pluck of fear but let it rest. Barb and Jack had babysat Sybil her entire life, at least once a week probably. They know her, Luke and Lori trust them, Barb doesn't seem anxious about the situation, everything's fine.

Everything's fine.

I wonder when I should ask about the wedd-

"BARB!!!!! BARB CALL 9-1-1!!!!!!!"

Jack was screaming from outside. He flung the back door open and it slammed against the wall.

A second "BARB CALL 9-1-1!!!!!!" echoed throughout the tiled house.

We all jolted our heads up with adrenaline. I sat closest to the office door that opened to the kitchen with windows on every wall facing the backyard. I believe I saw it first after his initial scream.

I saw a drenched Jack running from the back door to yell for Barb to call 9-1-1, and saw a limp, soaking wet, unconscious Sybil in his arms.

Oh my God. She fell in the pool.

Barb leapt up from her desk and ran to the office door, letting out an "Oh GOD!!" the moment she saw what I saw.

Lisa got out of her chair before me. When she saw the situation she grabbed the back of my chair and frantically said, "I knew this was going to happen today. I KNEW it!!" with a look of horror on her face, shaking my chair a few times before running to the back door.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't think.

...what?

I sat there for a moment longer and then slowly got up and walked outside.

Sybil was lying on a pool float on the deck.

Jack was kneeling down doing compressions on Sybil's tiny chest.

John was kneeling down next to Jack, counting the compressions for him.

Barb was pacing, crying, talking to herself, yelling at Sybil to wake up.

Lisa was pacing, crying, taking deep breaths, had a hand pressed to her forehead.

I was emotionlessly looking around, assessing the situation, trying to find a way I could help.

what?

Jack panically asked Barb if she'd called 9-1-1 yet.

In her despair, she hadn't.

I found my way to help.

I made the first 9-1-1 call in my whole life.

The operator patched me through to a paramedic. He told me to stay on the line with him until the paramedics came to the house. He asked me to describe the situation.

Me:   Right now she is laying down on the pool deck and her grandpa is doing compressions.

Paramedic:   Is any water coming out of her nose or mouth?

Me:   No, just some runny white stuff is coming out of her nose.

Parademic:   Okay, make sure that's getting pushed away from her nose as it's coming out.

I tell John to start pushing away the white stuff.

Paramedic:   How many compressions is her grandpa doing before trying to breathe for her?

Me:   I'm not sure.

Paramedic:   Okay, make sure it's thirty compressions, then two full breaths into her mouth with her nose pinched.

I tell John to tell Jack to make sure it's thirty compressions then two breaths.

Me:   Okay I told them. Thank you so much.

Paramedic:   You're welcome, but don't hang up yet.

Me:   Oh I know, I'm not. Just, thank you.

Paramedic:   You're welcome.

I heard sirens. The paramedics came blazing down the road. They ran into the front door that was already open and into the back yard and quickly began working. I told the phone paramedic they arrived, thanked him again, and hung up.

Once they took over for Jack and John, Jack had no choice but to stand aside helplessly in all of his horror and sorrow. He crumpled to his knees and wept.

I rested my head on one of the walls of the house and quietly prayed. Please...please...please...it's all I could muster.

I eventually looked around and saw Lisa comforting Barb on the porch. I went over to them. Lisa was more composed, but Barb had only gotten worse. Lisa was also trying to call Luke, who hadn't answered her first few calls. It then became my job to get in touch with someone in the wedding party to let them know Luke couldn't officiate, and if he'd already arrived then he needed to answer his phone and leave.

Lisa got a hold of Luke before I got anyone.

"Luke, Sybil fell into the pool and the paramedics are here. You need to get over here now."

...

"No, it's not a joke. You need to get over here now."

...

"I know, I'm so sorry. You need to get over here now."

I won't repeat what Lisa told me he was saying, or how she heard Lori responding in the background. It isn't my memory to share. But it was clear that they felt the terror of the situation.

I then set out to get ahold of anyone at the wedding whose number I had.

I tried the groom. No answer, of course.

I tried one groomsman. Another groomsman. A bridesmaid.

The second bridesmaid I tried answered. Anna.

"Hey Anna, it's Katelyn. I'm calling because I need you and the rest of the wedding party to know that today, at Jack and Barb's house, Sybil fell in the pool and hasn't woken up yet...

Finally, the tears shot up from within me like a flash flood.

...so we need you guys to pray your hearts out, and that also means Luke can't be there today."

She responded calmly, let me know they would pray hard, and they'd figure out the wedding details. We hung up.

I found a corner of the backyard not occupied or visible to anyone else and sat on the ground, my back to the wall, and let the tears come.

I know this happens sometimes, Jesus. I know this happens to people. But please, please not today, not Sybil, not this family. Please...

After a few minutes, I heard a helicopter get louder and louder until it sounded like it was ten feet away from me. I got up and saw that a medical helicopter had landed on their street. I walked around to where everyone was and saw that they'd put Sybil onto a stretcher and were breathing for her with a bag. She was being wheeled through the backyard fence door to the chopper, and Jack and Barb were preparing to be driven to the hospital. They had contacted Luke and Lori to meet them there and not at the house. I never saw Luke or Lori that day.

Barb and Jack soon left, and all that were left in the house were myself, Lisa, John, and the policemen who had arrived at some point. Suddenly, coming from upstairs was Ben, Jack and Barb's grandson, Sybil's cousin. He had been out cold in a nap and had no idea what was going on. We told him as much about the situation as we knew. He quietly began to cry.

We each gave our statement and we talked amongst ourselves as detectives went to the backyard and neighbors/news crews slowly turned up in front of the house.

We were told we could leave whenever we liked, but we didn't have to.

Ben left for the hospital as soon as he could. He said he would call us with any update he could give.

John left before Lisa and I.

Barb called Lisa a few times for this and that, asked her if she could call Lori's sister and their church pastor to let them know about the situation. We decided to stay for awhile in case Barb needed any more information from her house.

5pm passed. Lisa and I turned on the news to see if any reports had come up yet. She explained why she'd said earlier "I knew this would happen today," and it was because she had envisioned seeing Jack  crying with Sybil unconscious in his arms. She couldn't explain it, and it had bothered her earlier that day.

I was on Facebook on my phone and saw that Luke had posted a status of "Please pray for Sybil. She is in critical condition. Pleeaaaassseeee praaaaayyyyy."

This actually gave me hope.

Critical condition = Alive!

Praise Jesus, she just needs to recover. Even if it's never the same again, she's alive she's alive she's alive.

I texted a few close friends about the situation. I texted my sister and my mom. My mom was at the wedding I wanted to be at, and I knew she'd relay any information I gave her.

We waited for an update from Ben.

6pm came. It was starting to get dark outside. Lisa got a call from Ben, and this is what I remember:

"Hi Ben, what's going on?

...

...

...

*Lisa looks at me*

...

...oh no, she died?"

Fuck.

I got up off the sofa...walked around...took deep breaths...then sat on the fireplace bench and put my head between my legs, breathing deeply.

"I'm so sorry Ben..."

No. It doesn't make sense.

"Let us know if you need anything."

No...

She hung up. We sat there awhile. We talked some.

But we both knew it was over. And it was time to go home.

I called my mom from Jack and Barb's living room, and I felt the surge of emotion choking me again when I told her Sybil had passed away. She was heartbroken too and asked if I wanted her to meet me at my house. I knew I'd be the only one home, and that's the last thing I wanted. I wanted to be around people I loved, and most of them were at the wedding I'd wanted so desperately to be at. She told me to come on over, that they were preparing for the reception now.

With Lisa by my side, we left the house and didn't make eye contact with any of the gawking neighbors or news crews. We both got in our cars and drove away.

I went to the wedding, but left early.

And the following day was just as cold as I'd been anticipating, though it brought no joy. It felt more like an absence from warmth than any other cold I've experienced.

The rest is history. The rest needs to be sorted out with a counselor I plan to find soon.

Sorting through that day has been one of the hardest attempts in my life. It left me cold, quiet, and alone.

It left me with the dead body of a beautiful three-year-old girl laying at the shores of all my experiences last year.

She lies within the caves of my deepest being.

I have tried not to glance over at her when I'm trying my best to feel joy in my veins and really laugh without hesitation.

But she's there. She's laying right there, wearing those purple patterned tights with that purple long-sleeved shirt to match.

And sometimes, without my permission or warning, I can feel her drop into the cold water and take a big breath out of fear, allowing the water into her lungs and causing her to suffocate until she must've lost consciousness.

That moment plays like a broken record in my mind -- an innocent little love choking to death.

Needless to say, God and I have had some honest, profane, emotional, and outright blasphemous talks since then. I've thought things, done things, said things I'm not proud of since then. And I know now that it's because I felt His absence so profoundly in that moment, the worst trauma of my life, that I couldn't bear His presence afterward.

We're working on that now; I feel like I finally have strength for it. I'm making time for His Word, for other good books, investing in healthy friendships and seeking out counseling.

This post is part of that therapeutic experience.

I want to lay to rest the Sybil that lies dead within me, just like the real Sybil was laid to rest.

I want to externalize my personal experience and not have it be an albatross around my neck.

This happened. But it's over now.

I don't wish to forget her, but I wish for her memory in me to be more about who she was than how she died.

This is my funeral service, my eulogy, my prayer for her.

Photo by Katy Horgan

Hi there little love,

You were such a goof, and you helped me be goofy too. You seemed so incredibly aware of the love we all felt for you, and you used up your whole heart in your love back to us. Even in your sassiest times, you only wanted more time with your people - no more naps or bedtimes! Even when you got upset over things not going your way, it was only you trying to figure out how things worked and why they weren't working the way you wanted them to. You brought your family so much joy, and those who loved your family were in turn blessed by you. You should have seen all the people who came to our service for you...we could all barely fit in the room! I'm so sorry you were scared when you fell in the pool, and I'm so sorry none of us knew that happened -- your Papa especially. Make sure to give him a big big hug when he meets you in Heaven, and let him know that you've helped prepare a place for him for eternity - maybe a garden for the two of you to play in. I am so glad that the whole experience was quick, and that you had such a vibrant, loving, and adventurous life while you were here. We miss you. We love you. We'll see you soon. Goodbye for now, little one.

Katelyn

Two months in...

They say therapy is a dance between the therapist and the client.

You spend class time learning the mechanics of the moves, the reasons behind this move and that move, how to recover if you step on toes, and it all looks like a scientific art form you'll never master.

But you practice in class, you add more and more minutes to the practice sessions, and then you record a half-hour role play session as a therapist with a classmate client.

You watch to it, you transcribe it, and suddenly, you see it.

You see yourself dancing. 

And you're not half bad. :)

Grey's Anatomy and Ashton Kutcher

I love Grey's Anatomy. No reason to deny it.

I don't love it for the romantic drama...because usually you can see it coming a mile away.

I don't love it for the weird diseases and sicknesses that they see...that gets a little too unrealistic for my taste.

I DO love it for the humor. And the music.

But what I love most about Grey's Anatomy is the passion these doctors have for what they do. They are always ready for the next way to be better, to be smarter, to be more experienced surgeons. Their work isn't just the backdrop of their personal relationships (though they always seem to have patients dealing with similar issues to their own...), it is a journey they have all chosen to be badasses in. The finish line isn't becoming a fellow or getting a certain amount of money. The finish line is when they physically cannot operate anymore, and even then they'll probably need others to pry them away from the OR. No one sits on their lead, no one gets comfortable and lazy. And that's because their job is not a means to an end, it is their life's work.

I hope to approach my career that way. I'll have to if I plan on being (one of) the best in my field.

So what's really important for me to do now is NOT learn what I need to for graduation, but to figure out how to become a skilled learner for the rest of my life. Where do I need to go to study? What music (if any) helps me? Do I take notes? Highlight? Use my computer or hand-write? What time of day? How much at a time?

I hope to be an accomplished learner by the end of my program, as well as an accomplished communicator. A doctorate degree, a journal publication, a book...sky's the limit if I put in the work. And to put in the work, I need to know how I work best.

All of this reminds me of an impacting speech Ashton Kutcher gave at the Teen Choice Awards a little while ago. It has truly inspired me to grab life by the horns and change the world with what I'm passionate about. If you haven't watched it yet, check it out!

Do what you love and love what you do. And GOOD GRIEF be a badass at it, man!! Why not!?!

And with that, I leave you to study. Happy Saturday. :)

A New Chapter, A New Blog

As you can see, I've changed the design and title of this blog. It just felt like it was time. More on the new title later.

I've been encouraged to reboot this shabby old thing since moving away from my family and friends. It's an easy way to keep everyone in the loop of my current wanderings and wonderings.

Portland has been my home for a month, now. I can hardly believe it's been that long. The move was relatively smooth, Ayda did great in my backseat, and nothing of mine was damaged on the trek up here. We took Highway 1 along the California/Oregon coast, and I posted some pictures on Facebook/Instagram of the gorgeous scenery. SO glad we took that route.

The hardest thing so far has been what everyone's hardest thing has been upon arriving here: finding a job.

An interview here, an interview there, "You'll hear back from us either way."

And I hear nothing.

This whole thing has led to an appreciation for the community I have in Arizona who always helped me find a job when I needed one. I guess I took that for granted.

A month without income is a stressful one indeed. Not to mention car trouble that costs a pretty penny to fix, a misunderstanding with the school that leads to my financial aid refund check being three weeks late getting to me (and has yet to arrive), and my first experience with treating Ayda for fleas. That's not counting the numerous things I need but can't afford to buy yet, like textbooks and windshield wipers (mine are toast).

With so many blows, and so many more on the horizon, hopelessness is right on my heels as I move forward. There have been times in the last month when I mentally laid my face in the dirt and let the hopelessness catch up to me, cover all of me, and make me feel like there was no use in getting up because nothing was waiting for me ahead. I'd stay there for five minutes or so, contemplating what giving up would entail, and very suddenly, sometimes even aloud, I'd say "Get up, keep moving." And I'd force my mind to dust itself off and continue looking for the next step toward an answer, toward a potential job, toward solving what problems I can with what I have now and prioritizing those that can wait until I have an income again.

Every day feels like a five-mile run. Without the runner's high.

I say all of this not for pity, or for handouts, or for admiration. I say all of this to paint a picture of my current state so that you can imagine how this next piece of the puzzle fits and feels:

Through my dear friend Shelley, I was given a connection to a manager at a Starbucks ten minutes away, and I have an interview there tomorrow. Everything is pointing toward this working out, though I say that with hesitance since you never really know until you're offered a job.

I've never been so excited to work food service in my whole life.

What once would have only been 'a demotion in pay and work' in my eyes has now become a light at the end of an anxious tunnel, and I'd do almost anything to make this opportunity work out.

Other than the job hunt, I have had a week and a half of classes at George Fox so far, and overall they are great. One instructor is incredibly theoretical, another is incredibly practical, and the other is incredibly philosophical. Every week feels like an extensive mental workout as these three instructors approach Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT) from so many aspects.

Though he's the toughest to follow in class, my philosophical instructor said something in our first class that will probably stick with me forever. After an EXTENSIVE explanation of something, he finished with:

"...and it is our calling to come hold another's hand at the edge of the abyss."

My eyes immediately watered and almost turned into a full-fledged flood down my face. The overwhelming thunk of acknowledgement, of YES!, of Here am I, send me! was more than I've ever experienced. I knew then and there that any sort of trouble with getting up to Portland and creating a stable life for myself was worth it, because I am here to reach the fullest potential of my calling.

I am called to meet with clients, willing and unwilling, and try to mentally/emotionally seek them in the darkness, to travel any road to find them, to earn the right to be heard, to earn the privilege of facilitating peace and healing in their relationships.

Now more than ever, I am convinced that my area of specialty within MFT will be trauma, maybe even PTSD more specifically.
Those doing anything to avoid the devastating event that lives within them like a broken record.
Those who feel profoundly alone in their pain and unable to connect with others because of it.
Those who cannot heal until someone else steps into their painful space and is willing to feel it with them.
Those who are desperately seeking a hand to hold at the edge of the abyss, at the edge of nothingness.

That's my niche in life. I know I was created to wander back through the darkness I've come from and sit with, for months if needed, my clients who cannot find the way out. I was created to become deeply familiar with the edge of the abyss, to keep strong and give those beside me hope in a different solution to their pain.

So there's my blog title. In the months/years to come as I write about my program and my personal life, I have a feeling my posts will gravitate toward this concept of the cold, hard reality of the abyss, and how my interactions with it are changing me into a better counselor.

It's good to be back. I'll try to get better about taking pictures, I know those are always more fun. :P

Love you all.

Life on the High Road

Excerpts from Psalms 73

1 Truly God is good to Israel,

    to those who are pure in heart.

2 But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled,

    my steps had nearly slipped.

3 For I was envious of the arrogant

    when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.

16 But when I thought how to understand this,

    it seemed to me a wearisome task,

17 until I went into the sanctuary of God;

    then I discerned their end.

18 Truly you set them in slippery places;

    you make them fall to ruin.

21 When my soul was embittered,

    when I was pricked in heart,

22 I was brutish and ignorant;

    I was like a beast toward you.

23 Nevertheless, I am continually with you;

    you hold my right hand.

24 You guide me with your counsel,

    and afterward you will receive me to glory.

25 Whom have I in heaven but you?

    And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

26 My flesh and my heart may fail,

    but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I grew up a church kid.

Not the "But I had a double life" kind of church kid.

I truly WAS the church kid...the kid who loved doing the right thing, who truly wanted to know God more, and the kid who enjoyed the safe, good, loving nature of the church every week.

With that, "taking the high road" in social situations was fairly easy for me. I cleaned up my side of the street in conflict, I chose my friends and romantic relationships slowly and wisely, and I said sorry the moment I realized I was wrong about something. People would tell me I was a rarity, that I was a blessing, that I was changing people's lives in how healthily I treated others.

That was the big word. Healthy. I've been called healthy my whole life. Whole. Entire. Life. I haven't been perfect, but I've recovered pretty gracefully when I have fallen, and I always have an admiring audience who can't wait to tell me how healthy my choices are.

This was all easy for me to do for about ten years, then it got more difficult about two years ago. It didn't get more difficult to know how to be healthy, it got more difficult to want to be healthy.

I started seeing too many crappy people get great opportunities in their lives, too many spoiled brats continue to get everything handed to them on a silver platter, too much sorrow for the humble and God-fearing people around me, too much pleasure given to the greedy, too much authority given to the prideful, too much "good" given to the bad and too much "bad" given to the good.

I started seeing and experiencing what I considered to be an overwhelming amount of emotional and situational injustice.

So began the long and subtle road down which my soul slipped, cultivating the resentment I've written about before, growing the infuriating question that I shouted in the darkness with rage:

What's the point of living the "right" way if good things are given to the cheats, the deceivers, the arrogant?

I struggled with this for a long time. I chose not to take the high road for, in my mind, a long time. I relished the injustice, in the wrongs done to me personally. I felt a savage survival instinct surface in me, willing and ready to wound anyone who tried to take what was rightfully mine. That bitterness and hate was mine, what I protected, even from the hand of the Lord.

I've been graciously lifted out of that mindset through a long and painful process, but still did not know what to do with all the injustice I still experienced until I read Psalms 73 this morning. I finally felt free of it.

Logic leads me to perceive injustice. The sanctuary of God leads me to perceive an all-consuming justice that misses nothing.

After this long journey, through all that I have overcome and have been overcome by, I can assuredly count these words as true:

My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever

How Now Shall I Live?

This has been an abundant November. Full of wonderful, full of terrible. Simply full.

It began with an incredible College Weekend at Lost Canyon. Turns out I'm a lot better at being in relational ministry when it isn't my job, haha. I had some pretty raw conversations with my cabin and had the pleasure of baptizing one of my girls in the freezing lake. The Lord moved, and He let me feel some of that beautiful breeze.

Only a week later, Friday November 9th, 2012, I experienced the worst day of my life thus far. I witnessed a three-year-old girl pass away unexpectedly. Not just any three-year-old girl, but the granddaughter of the couple I work for. Not only was she their granddaughter, but the daughter of two of my dearest friends, who have loved me better than most who have known me longer. She was their only child, and they waited fifteen years into their marriage before having her.

I may as well have watched all four of them burn alive in front of me with my hands tied behind my back, helpless and useless.

But November 9th was only Day One of their agony and sorrow. I still work in the grandparents' household, still witness the nightmare becoming a daily...hourly...reality.

If you are the praying type, I ask you to stop reading, stop whatever you're doing and lift them up to their Father right now. They all love the Lord, they are all changing my life in how beautifully they are entering into this darkness. But they are all exhausted, and only have enough energy to cling to the cross. Keep them in your thoughts, let their tragedy sober you up to see what really matters in life. For privacy's sake I'm not using their names, ask me in person if you wish to know.

The combination of these two meaningful moments in my life have given my thought trails an interesting color scheme as of late.

College Weekend thoughts: I am a leader, there's no denying. That is a waste of gifting if I am not trained, and I should not give up on training due to past failures. Whether I step into that calling or not, I am looked up to and reminded of that on an almost daily basis. How now shall I live?

November 9th thoughts: I am not protected from life's greatest sorrows by following the Lord. That is not His promise to me. Pain is not so avoidable as doing all the right things. I am entitled to no good thing on this earth, any and all good things are gifts to me that have a time limit. Who do I want to brave those storms with? Who do I want to go through the potential loss of a precious child with? How now shall I live?

I've also been thinking through how my "marriage" with Christ has looked in the twelve years that I have chosen to be bound to Him. We went around as a cabin at College Weekend and described briefly what our story with Him has looked like and where we are at with Christ now. My story at the time ended with me describing how different circumstances had led to me burning out spiritually and feeling more resentment toward God than I had ever felt six months prior, and I was at a place where I wanted to fall in love with Christ in the ways I had before. I wanted to rekindle what I had neglected, and lose my fear of investing in our relationship.

Then November 9th happened, and Christ was my only constant in the terrifying darkness. He remains my only warmth in the cold, sad days that have followed. He is the only air that satisfies my lungs, that calms my heart. In the depths of my despair, His soft and simple song keeps me willing to move forward. I could not have faced that day, these current times, without His Spirit alive in me.

I wrote this next part two years ago after a painful but healthy break-up, and it is more true today than ever: If you haven't caught on already, I am flat-on-my-back in love with Jesus. He is all that keeps me from becoming undone. He brings me to life. He turns my heart of cold stone into a hot pulsing muscle that has a significant purpose, that feels what must be felt even when I can barely breathe from the pain. He makes me beautiful. He puts nothing to waste. He redeems the violent, the cruel, the wretched. He calls the silent to speak, the shy to sing, the somber to dance. He calls everything inside of me to come forth, to be free, to either be pruned or to be used.

During the most peculiar of times, within the most unexpected of circumstances, I am regaining the courage to step back into the body of Christ and be used as needed for His purpose, all while keenly aware of my utter dependence on His presence. I hope to soak up this vivid season while it lasts, for I know one day I will feel burnt out and indifferent like I have before. I'll forget how hopeless His absence is, and take His presence for granted. I'll resent the shortcomings in my peers and become less and less vulnerable about mine. I will do all of these things if I do not learn from where I have been, and where I am now.

The path is set before me. And once again I ask...

How now shall I live?

"But we'll live a long life."

If I could pick the song that gives me the most peace, hope, and resounding joy to slow-dance with Jesus to right now, it'd be this one. This is my worship:

I listen to it every night before going to sleep. It helps me start breathing deeper and letting go of the day's distractions.

This is a weird season for me.

I am more relational now then ever. Which is ironic, given that this is the first time in five years when I'm not directly leading/working for an established relational ministry (Younglife). I think that's the catalyst for this change though, because now it's my choice to be relational rather than my duty or obligation. I am also delving deeper into the Christian community outside my Younglife circles, learning even more about myself and about what the rest of the body of Christ in Phoenix has been up to while I've been in Younglife Land.

I'm getting to know some very healthy people, and that is more refreshing than I can even describe.

But it is also insightful in some bittersweet ways. Turns out that I am still a pretty young person with some growing to do. I have not graduated from some of the early-twenties social scenes and conversation topics. There are still some aspects of my life where I choose to pull the "I'm just a kid" card so that I don't have to rise to the adult level of responsibility. I have some character flaws that need some maturing and purposeful inspection. That's been a tough realization for me, but that awareness is the necessary first step to growth.

For the most part, these new friends of mine continue to feed my soul and show me different facets of Christ I've never experienced before, which makes them invaluable treasures and gifts of "good" on this earth I do not deserve. Thank you Jesus, you are too kind to me.

Here's another song that is close to my heart right now. I feel like I would sing this song to "life" about my niece Maddy, and whenever I think about how I love Maddy I am always reminded how Jesus loves me, with a fierce passion, protection, and adoration. And in an odd way, I feel like I need to feel loved like this by a man before I give him a hefty piece of my heart. I'm done with settling for less. With all that, this song makes me feel cherished and adored by Him, and gives me hope in the future for being loved like this by a Godly man:

Sleeping at Last - "Wilderness"


I think that's where I'll end things for now. God bless, lovely people.

Waking Up.

I have plenty to write, but not enough time at the moment! So this will probably be a short one as a prequel to a more detailed post later to come.

The last two weeks have healed me, have given me life, and have given me unexpected joy. I have the strength not just to move forward, but to do so with excellence and energy.

To be frank, this summer sucked. It was a horrible time not to have my Younglife community around as often and no classes to focus on. I felt like I was emotionally bleeding out, searching frantically for some relief and resolution. I didn't write much, didn't sing much, didn't laugh much, didn't do too much of anything. Thank Jesus I have the best roommates in the world that kept me from going to such a potentially worse place mentally.

It was the lowest I'd been in awhile.

But in this messed up world, that's where Jesus can do the most work...when our own structures and kingdoms and concepts have all fallen away and He can start from scratch within us, make us new, replace the lost with the redeemed new. Some of what He fills me with is foundational truth I've already heard and known, but some of His new creation in me is brand new and eye-opening, like when you learn how to breathe with the deeper part of your lungs. It offers deeper life. It gives every experience a fuller perspective. It makes life, and really ME, more beautiful and more enjoyable to be around.

To put simply, it feels like I'm sobering up from an incredibly sensory chapter of my life. I'm learning what is real, what is true, what never changes, what I can rely on and what I should ALWAYS take with a grain of salt without exception. As I "wake up" I am also becoming aware of how sensory-dependent our entire generation inherently is...

And that's where I'll leave you for now. ;)

"I believe there is another world waiting for us, Sixsmith. A better world. And I'll be waiting for you there."

This movie haunts me before I have even seen it. I watch this trailer at least twice a day. The music makes my eyes water. Even if this fails in the box office, this is one of the best movie trailers I've ever seen.

Yep. Cannot wait.

Well, here's something worth announcing. I was talking to my counselor about different places I've been researching to possibly move to for graduate school. About four options were on the table. After several exchanges, my counselor said offhandedly, "Well when it comes down to it, I hope you choose where you go most of all because of the program itself."

And that's when I realized I've had my priorities a little shaky. Like the iPhone apps get when you delete or move them. ;)

I've been focusing on where I want to settle down, using grad school as a reason to move there. Well there are pros and cons to every city, and the thing that will get me through the cons of where I live will have to be the reason I moved there in the first place: my grad program. I need to love that, then move from there.

So I started revisiting my options without any regard to where they were located. Within an hour, we had a winner. And the winner is an ironic one, since it is the first choice I had four years ago when I started thinking about grad school at all:

Whose Graduate Program Center resides in...

So that's the goal, the plan, and the pursuit. This will be super embarrassing if I don't get in, haha. All the more reason to make it happen! I may apply to more than one for a safety net, mind you.

Sometimes I feel like my mind, without my permission, does routine maintenance down memory lane. It's as if it makes sure it still has as much information stored as possible for a particular setting. I'll walk into a room I've walked into thousands of times and distinctly remember something that happened in it years ago as if it happened yesterday. I walked into the Starbucks by my house yesterday and immediately remembered the night I was fourteen and met my youth pastor and a guy friend there to talk about something I can't remember. That was the first night that particular friend drove me home, the first of many to come and the beginning of our more-than-friendship days. I've had so many memories there since that night nine years ago, more intense and meaningful memories at that, and yet it replayed in my head as if it were only one memory of a dozen to choose from. I was sitting in my living room one afternoon after work and remembered my first time walking into this house four years ago with Missy to meet Cathy, wishing so badly I could live in a house like this one day with roommates. My counselor's office is in the same complex as Mike and Rhonda's used to be, and I remembered getting breakfast there with my youth group after our 30-hour famine weekend. French toast never tasted so good.

It feels like my life is lazily flashing before my eyes, grounding me in this moment on the spectrum of time, reminding me this is not the only moment that has ever existed in this place and it will not be the last. Not all of the memories I've recently experienced have been pleasant ones. That same Starbucks where my more-than-friendship started was the same Starbucks where that more-than-friendship ended three years later, and I remember that just as clearly as the previous one. My living room where I dreamed it would be mine is also the living room I've cried my eyes out in for one reason or another. Life happens. Soak up the joys and breathe through the sorrows. Even at the unripe old age of 23, I can confidently say that I have lived a good life on this Earth. My fondest and most painful memories both remind me, in the same ways, that I have lived.

...and I plan on doing a bit more living, so let's not be so conclusive about my life yet, haha.

Bed time.

Progress, my own and in general

This has been such a season of growth for me, there is no way I could dictate everything I've been mentally chewing on lately. It's crazy how the humility produced by brokenness is the very key to progress in life, because it is the death of the self. I'm beginning to think that Jesus didn't teach people how to live, He taught them how life/humanity works whether we approve of it or not. I see no other option for progress from brokenness than through humility. Doesn't matter how I feel about it.

I recently went to Michigan with Beasley and her family to their incredible lake house in Pentwater. It was the most beautiful marriage between woods and seashore that I've ever experienced, and I'm hoping that won't be my only time visiting. All the natural beauty led to mental stimulation of epic proportions! I read two books and wrote three front-and-back pages worth of journaling, plus finished a song I'd been writing.

This is the very edge of the pier in Pentwater with the other Caitlin in the clan, Beasley's cousin. This is in the middle of a great conversation the three of us were having. How can you NOT have a great conversation with that view and waves crashing all around you?! It was the perfect vacation I needed, and with all that mental stimulation I realized a few things floating around in my subconscious that, when brought into the light, change the game. Progress progress progress.

Though it took a week away to an oasis to figure out a few specific nuggets of truth, one treasure plopped into my head one night as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep a few nights ago. Suddenly, as if teaching myself this truth, I said aloud:

"I will not experience every 'good' available in this lifetime."

And then, as if that truth implies another one, I said:

"I am entitled to no 'good' available in this lifetime."

Oh man. Talk about a game changer. A sport changer, to stretch the analogy further. If I am guaranteed nothing in particular, but am promised good and prosperity by God at the end of whatever may come, how much freedom there is to be had! Life becomes less about looking for good things and trying to make them mine, trying to choose what God may bless me with. It becomes more about what God has for me, come what may.

I just came out of a season of what seemed to be irrational resentment toward God. With the help of Timothy Keller's book Prodigal God, I realized that I'd been treating the last year of my life like the older brother treated his work in Jesus's prodigal son parable. I embraced my serving opportunities with rolled eyes and the thought of "Well if God wants me to, I guess it's the right thing to do" with the hidden assumption that I'll be awarded for such self-sacrificing behavior. If I jumped through the hoops and followed the rules, I would get the good things I want. I was already doing the good things HE wanted of me, and because of this I deserved my personal desires on my own terms. Like vacation days accumulated in the work place (not a vacation from good, but a vacation from God's terms for good).

This didn't end well, as you can imagine. But all I was consciously aware of was an anger toward God that I'd never experienced before. So I unraveled it, cried a lot, and those two nuggets of truth I shared felt like the nails in the coffin of that ugly phase of our relationship. I will not experience every good available in this lifetime, and I am entitled to no good available in this lifetime. If that sounds like pessimism or a poor self-esteem to you, I assure you t'is not. :)

So with freedom fresh in my lungs and big decisions on my horizons, life is good. A good I did not earn, a good that is a gift.

Until next time!