Come Awake.

I'm learning more and more that walking with God isn't so much about getting questions answered, or receiving prophetic messages to follow, as much as it is simply partaking in moments. Some as a fruit of intentional time set apart for them, others that sweep you up in the middle of the day without warning.

I'm learning more and more that His gifts mean nothing without His presence. No gift of His could ever replace His absence.

I'm learning more and more that I know I am experiencing His presence when my brain feels as alive as it does when I am in another human's presence...neuron synapses firing away as I gaze upon their face, watch their eyes, notice their quirks. I know when He shows Himself to me, and I sense that I truly know that beautiful face.

I'm learning that Jesus hungered for Him while on this Earth. Not even the Son of God could feel a satisfying amount of His presence here. I'm learning that there is a definitive correlation between hunger, desperation, and risk, and His presence within me.

I'm learning that I need His power. I can't survive without it. Only God dwelling within me can follow God; I don't have the strength for it, my flesh has no consequence. I can only run on batteries for so long. I can only run on memories for so long. I need His power for every breath.

I'm learning that I need His affirmation, just like Jesus did at his baptism before he took a single step into his ministry. I need to know God is satisfied with me before I feebly attempt at being satisfactory. I need to know that I have already won what I foolishly try to earn.

These warm blankets of truth are a "moment" in and of themselves for me. Because I am coming out of what I believe to be a time of dormancy, darkness, and absence...a perceived absence of Him and even an absence of myself.

I'd say that time frame has been about five years, if I am being brutally honest with myself. Even before then, I'd say that darkness was on the horizon creeping in.

I think of those vast, elaborate English estates with around six levels of rooms and entire wings for all sorts of uses. Libraries, drawing rooms, ball rooms, parlors; even little secret nooks and hiding places. Then fields and fields of land with lakes and streams for even more adventures to be had. That's what I see when I think of the set-up of my heart, with all its passions and desires and movements.

And I'd say the past five years I effectively closed off room by room as time chipped away at my resolve, and some rooms felt haunted with painful ghosts, and others seemed useless despite being dear to me. Slowly but surely, I'd cover the furnishings and close the door, trying my best not to be sad. Trying my best to believe that maybe God never planned on using my whole heart anyway. Maybe some rooms weren't meant for me, even if I'd made space for them.

I think it was that thought...the thought of a God who did not affirm all of me, the thought of a life lived with empty beloved rooms, the thought of needing to be "less than" who I am to be acceptable...

Man, those thoughts knocked the wind out of me.

Defeated.

That's the truest word for the feeling of it all.

Tonight at church, the guest pastor John asked, "If the presence of God was subtracted from my life, what would stop working?"

I think the last five years have been an ebb and flow experience of what would stop working in me; I would stop working altogether.

There are so many elements, known and unknown to me, that went into how I got to that place in life.

Likewise, there are so many elements, known and unknown to me, that went into getting me out of that place in life.

Little nuggets of truth falling into place, making a small piece of the puzzle make more sense.

Something catching my attention that never had before, illuminating elements of my past and my present.

Beautiful moments that felt like sunlight peaking through boarded up windows, finding the weak spots in the defenses, warmth slowly melting the ice.

The births of my niece and nephew, and their painfully beautiful souls revealing themselves with age.

So many things. Big and small. But in the end, it was all the same process: I was waking up.

A room here, a room there. Door opening. Coverings thrown off. Curtains opened to let the sun in. A walk-through recalling how happy I had been here and how sad I was to have had it out of my life for so long.

Tonight, in all of its elements, felt like the grand opening of my heart. No room or hall or wing left unprepared for Presence, for Affirmation, for Power, for Love. The revelation that I have never been called to be less than myself, but in fact to be used for purposes greater than I can even comprehend. The estate of my heart is meant to be filled up to every square inch. Even farther: to overflow.

If that wasn't enough, we sang this song tonight in that huge sanctuary and I about died with life, haha. The chorus was my soul, begging God to do what He has been in the process of doing the past five years in my pain...to awake me from my sleep.

Spirit of the living God, come fall afresh on me

Come awake me from my sleep

Blow through the caverns of my soul

Pour in me to overflow

Hi.

Or, should I say, Good Morning. :)

Who Knows What the Tide Could Bring

In the process of packing up my room to move in with some friends in Vancouver, I came across my old one-subject notebook I used to journal in. I started it about two years ago and have jotted lyrics and letters down anytime I've felt like it since then.

I can tell what every single entry is about.

And I remember how I felt writing every single one.

The pattern I find the most in my cries to God is the underlying assumption that all the pieces of the puzzle were in front of me...that everything I've ever known or will know is right in front of me.

It made my entries rather hopeless, frustrated, and defeated. All my logic said that this, whatever "this" was going on at the time, was the end. It will be this way for the rest of my life. I will always hurt this way, always long for these things, always feel like something is missing.

I read these now and hurt for my younger heart. So many pieces of the puzzle have surfaced since then, things I never could have anticipated or imagined. Yet something told me in those moments to hold on, to keep moving, to hope in the hopelessness.

We never "arrive". Things never get "easier". But there are some hurts that don't last forever, and some hungers that eventually die away. There is a resolve in the future that can hardly be comprehended in the present. I can see that now as I skim through the words of my past.

I don't know where you're at. But if all your logic tells you that nothing in your life will ever resolve, let my words and this tear-jerker scene from Cast Away encourage you. Keep breathing. Search the shorelines of your life for the sail that could change everything if you used it. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?

Watery Walks

Tonight I needed a walk. Immediately.

It was raining pretty steadily. Didn't matter. Ayda came with me. I knew the exercise would keep her warm.

We started on the regular route we always do. I kept my head down at first to keep my face from getting soaked, but then I realized I wasn't wearing any makeup, had nowhere else to be tonight, and the rain was coming straight down so it wouldn't get in my eyes. So I stared straight ahead and let the rain run down my forehead, nose and cheeks. Soon enough, my pants were soaked, my shoes were soaked, and my outer rain jacket was soaked. I probably looked like the unabomber with my hood covering my hair, my hands in my pockets and my lanky stomps through the rain, but I soon stopped caring.

And I started praying.

You are my prize.

I have already won.

There's nothing to achieve.

There's no one to become.

I fear no fate, for You are my fate.

Ayda didn't like the rain. She was getting paranoid about every little sound and even more terrified of car headlights than she already is. She kept whipping her head around and frantically looking at me.

"You're okay, love. You're okay as long as you stay with me."

And like most shepherding things I say to my dog, I could hear His voice say the same words to me.

I felt fearless.

I fear no darkness.

I started thinking about the hardest things I've been through and some of the hardest things I could possibly think of happening in the future.

I fear no darkness.

But what if--?

I fear no darkness.

We circled back to my house and I knew Ayda was done. I wasn't quite though. I let her into the house, gave her a nice towel-dry, and set off again for another lap.

The rain was softer, but I was already drenched to the core.

The sidewalk in front of me turned somewhere in the distance past the fog, but it felt like an endless straight line in front of me.

I have so many hopes and dreams.

I have so many moments I want in my future.

I have so many images of what my happiness would look like.

I walked past my favorite house in my neighborhood, the closest thing to a dream house I've come to find in Oregonian suburbs.

I have such a vision for my future.

Somehow, through the raindrops in my eyelashes and the ones streaming down my face and neck, I sensed I was looking Him in the eye. And all those little glimpses of all those little treasures I was thinking of began to fade away.

You are my moment.

You are my vision.

You are the beauty I ache for.

You are my goal. And You're already mine.

I was home by then.

And it was time.

Stories From a Friend's Air Mattress

Let me start by thanking all of you from the depths of my heart for your kind responses and the sheer magnitude of readers I had for my last post. I needed to get it OUT, and out it went, and in circled my tribes of friends. I have felt peace like never before since finishing that post. Thank you for all your encouragement and empathy. If you shed tears, I am honestly glad - that means I relayed the sadness of that day in full. It means I successfully shed light on the shadows within me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Well, on a slightly lighter note, today sucked.

"Honda Civics last forever" is only true if you eventually replace everything in them. So then why even think they're that great?

Today I went to an auto part store to have my (new) battery charged and my alternator tested because my start-ups had been sluggish and I didn't want to get stranded somewhere without having it all checked out. I got to the store, we went out to my car, and LOE AND BEHOLD, it wouldn't start. Battery tested out fine. Alternator tested out fine. The nice employee said it was probably my starter going bad. We finally got the car running, and he priced out the starter they had for my make/model.

I couldn't afford it.

And that's not including the labor charges of installing the thing.

My throat started to hurt and I knew I'd start crying if I didn't keep it together. The employee offered, "You could get the part here and maybe have a mechanical friend? Boyfriend? Husband? Dad? Someone install it for ya?"

I felt about a centimeter tall and roughly eight-years-old.

I quietly said, "Yeah, well the problem is I just recently moved up here alone, so those aren't really options."

Throat throbbing. Don't. Cry.

The guy was such a champ, he did his best to figure out options for me. We went outside, and after the third or fourth insane attempt to start the stupid car, it caught!

This meant, in theory, I could get it somewhere to get the starter installed.

Oh wait! I can't afford it!

So the guy wrote down the price and the numbers of some auto shops nearby who'd install it at a fair price.

I tried calling both of my parents' cell phones, but neither answered. So I called my sister.

Almost immediately I broke down and could barely talk through the crying. I felt infuriated with the magnitude of my car problems since moving up here. I felt so disheartened at the thought of no support system built here yet who could help me today.

I felt so alone.

I felt so dumb for choosing to move somewhere alone.

Silly girl. You're just a kid.

Long story short, I got in touch with my parents and we figured out a way to pay for it all. I ended up taking it to the Honda dealership in town because my dad wanted their expertise, only to be topped by his own (seriously, the man knows his cars).

So I got it to the dealership and got comfortable in a chair, expecting to wait for hours on end for it all to be over.

Out of boredom, I texted a classmate/fellow Starbucks partner friend about my car frustrations. She said she was right down the road and asked if I needed a ride anywhere, and I said I wasn't planning on going anywhere.

Ten minutes later, I'm looking up from a Times magazine at her face. She'd come to sit with me.

She starts telling me about her day, and that helps ease the brooding of my troubles. We laugh. I'm told by the Honda guys that my car won't be done until close to the time my night class started tonight. I thought I'd have to miss class.

My friend offered to go get dinner with me, her treat.
At dinner, she offered to drive me to class.
Then stay with her tonight.
Then drive me to work tomorrow since we both miraculously have similar shift times in the morning.
Then drive me to pick up my car after work.

I was shocked. I accepted.

Then I go to class tonight. And there's something in the classroom air that mixed beautifully with my emotional state and helped me smell the roses in this entire day and beginning chapter of life:

My car didn't fail me until I was at a place with friendly, capable people on my side.
My family is willing and able to help me during my time of need, even at 1500 miles away.

I have friends here. Real friends. They make room in their day, their home, their life for me.

And I am here to learn how to help the bleeding hearted. The relationally bruised. The emotionally worn. The empathically crippled.

Today, in its disruption and its discouragement and its brief despair, I was shown that I am not alone. I am not a silly girl for choosing this program so far away from my safe places and safe people.

Today reminded me of how happy I am to be here, to be alive, and to be doing what I'm doing with the time I have been given.

On that note, I leave you. I have to work in about six hours.

Sweet dreams.

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?