Winning the War

Prayer is scary. Because it works. It doesn't always work in the ways that you think it will work, but prayer is always effective. Prayer connects you with the Lord, and gives you the ability to reach towards Him. Prayer is the invisible thread that leads us to Him, and that is terrifying. Because if we have a connection to the Lord of all time and creation, all healing and grace, all love and power, what excuses do we have to not search for Him? If you had the healing power of the universe at your finger tips, would you reach for it?

Prayer is scary because once you start to reach for that healing power, you realize that there is no excuse not to ask for grace, healing, strength, love, knowledge, and wisdom. And there is no excuse not to use the gifts that are available to us. It is easy, in our ignorance, to say that Jesus wouldn't want  to do something, because we are not worthy, because He hasn't given us His power, His courage, His love, and that we are unable to do anything that He could not do if He wanted to. But when you pray, and when you ask for prayers, you are faced with the reality that Jesus loves you. That He has given you all the strength and courage you need to live your life, and that He will never abandon you.

Three weeks ago, I went to a prayer meeting that was being hosted by the Campus Fellowship team in NOVA. We spent the majority of two hours singing, praising, dancing and kneeling for the glory of God. As they always are, the Spirit Breakout Session was moving, and everyone was pretty emotional near the time when we could all ask for prayers. Normally I am pretty open with asking for prayers, but lately I had felt it on my heart to ask for something specific. This particular prayer request was much more personal than anything I had asked for previously, and I was terrified. For maybe twenty minutes, I struggled with the internal dilemma of asking for prayer. What should I do? Should I ask? Should I try to conquer this on my own? Should I leave well enough alone? What will people think of me asking for a prayer of this nature? Will they think any differently of me?

"Please everyone, I need prayers for an addiction. I don't know how else to say it, but I've been struggling with it for a while. And I've finally realized that I can't do it alone." I almost choked out what exactly I was struggling with, but there were so many people there that I lost my nerve. I sat down in the middle of the room, and everyone crowded around me, placing their hands on my back, my arms, my knees, my head. Everywhere they could reach. And they all began praying for me.

None of these people know my addiction. None of them knew about it beforehand. None of them even knew I was struggling with it before, but here they all were, praying for me. Asking the Lord to help me. Giving me the courage to ask Jesus to heal me completely.

"Rebecca, the Lord wants you to know that He CAN heal you one hundred percent, and that you can make it through. He wants to make you stronger than ever, and He is so thankful that you are asking for his help."

"You are ninety-nine percent there. Say 'yes'. That's all you need to say. Give the Lord the ability to heal you. You are the only one holding yourself back. He wants you to run to Him, and you are almost there. Praise the Lord!"

"Get out Satan. Get out of Becca. You have no place in her thoughts, in her actions, or anywhere in her life. Go back to hell where you belong."

"Be healed in the name of Jesus. Glory Father!"

And there were many other words shared with me that night. One of the most powerful experiences of my life is being prayed over with over thirty high school and college age students. I felt like my insides were a rubber band being stretched in several different directions, and I knew that if I was pulled any more, than I would snap. I also knew that I needed to be broken free from everything so that I could start over with Jesus as my core, but as someone who has been pelted with rubber bands, I was terrified of the pain. I didn't want to snap, but I desperately wanted to be free.

And as everyone surrounded me, showered their love on me, and showed me that I could do it, I let myself go. I cried out to the Lord. Told Him that I wanted to be freed of my struggles, that I wanted to run to Him, now and forever, and that I gave Him my yes.

The rubber band snapped.

Now that the prayer meeting is a few weeks behind us, I can say that there is still a war, and some days are better than others. Some days, it is easy to trip and fall, and other days it seems like it's impossible to get up. But some days are beautiful, and I can feel the Lord more present in my life than ever. I have felt more at peace in these last few weeks, than I have in the last few years. And even though I still struggle with my addiction sometimes, it is infinitely better than what it was before. This monster I thought I had to overcome by myself, is now a monster that I no longer have to face alone.

As I grow in friendship with the people around me, I am blessed by their wisdom, knowledge, and faith in the Lord. When I first moved here, I received a word from the Lord through a friend. He said, "Every day, there is a battle for your soul. The Lord and the enemy are fighting over you every morning, and every day that you say yes to Jesus, He wins. It is a never ending battle, and He is willing to fight for you every single day." At the time, I thought that this was in reference to another struggle that I had asked for prayers for. Upon receiving another word from a different friend, I am starting to realize that they are all connected, and that the Lord is using every single thing I do, to glorify Him and His works.

"Becca, every single day is a battle. And some days you lose the battles. You don't always have a perfect score. But losing a single battle is not losing the entire war. You often feel like you aren't good enough because you lost a single battle, but the important part is that there is a battle tomorrow, and that you are armed with the Lord, and He knows how hard you are trying. You won't lose the war. We are all here to help you. We are all here for you."

If you ever feel like you are drowning in the world, or that your personal struggles are keeping you under,talk to Jesus about it. Pray to Him. Ask others to pray with you. Call me up, I will pray with you! Because I have seen in my life how God's power works, and I know how much God wants us all to be free. 

Our Ashen Faith

As many of you know, this week marks the beginning of the liturgical season of Lent, or the forty day period before Easter. Traditionally people fast on Wednesday, and periodically give up something throughout the season. I often hear the mantra of, "Pray. Penance. Fasting. Forgiveness", and resolve to give up sweets or Facebook, or something else that doesn't really mean anything, but is rather a secret convenience to give up...

But more thoughts on that later, first, a story:

As a typical Christian, I also decided to fast on Wednesday, but because I work as a nanny, I didn't have a chance to go to mass until 5:30 pm; and for everyone else who fasted on Ash Wednesday, you understand my pain. I didn't particularly want to go to church, but it was the only time I was able to go, and begrudgingly I let myself be dragged there by my friend Terri. Since we were both hungry and irritable, our plan was to leave church straight after communion and quickly get something to eat before we were supposed to visit our friend in D.C. 

Well, as is the case when you want to leave early or don't want to be somewhere, time seems to drag by really slowly, and every little thing seems to be conspiring to make you late. First all the readings were long, and then the songs were long, and then the child sitting in front of us wouldn't be quiet.... So on and  so on. Mass seemed to be dragging by; every time I looked at the clock, only a minute or two had gone by. And it just kept going, and going, and going. Finally, it was time to get our ashes, and the packed church began piling through the line to receive them. Of course, since the church was so packed, this was no small feat, and took an even more impressive amount of time. As Terri and I sat back down with our ashy foreheads, we start noticing that people were leaving right after receiving theirs. So many people exited early, that our priest even made a comment about it when everyone was seated again.

"I hope everyone knows that without receiving the Eucharist along with their ashes, the ashes don't really mean anything?" he said, with a sad smile. "If people realized that it isn't the ashes that make this mass special, but instead, having the opportunity to commune with Jesus, maybe the church would still be as full as it was when we all entered." (Terri and I were squirming in our seats right now, because we did, in fact, really want to leave. We wanted to take the Eucharist and then vamoose). "I wonder," he continued, "how we act differently with ashes on our faces? And I wonder, how would we all act if we always had our crosses on our foreheads?"

This is the point that I started finally paying attention to church. I began to realize that I had not been acting very Christlike by fidgeting and wanting to leave church early. I had let myself become so caught up in the ceremony of church, and had lost significance of the mass. But the bigger question remained:

What would I do differently if I ALWAYS had a cross on my forehead?

That really got me thinking. What would I do? What would I change? What could I do to transform my faith into one of fire and passion, rather than one of ashes and stagnation? What would I give up, and what would I start doing? How would I act? Would I still hang around the same people? Would I tell the same jokes? And as I kept thinking, the list kept growing longer and longer. I would stop swearing, start donating more, help out more strangers, spend less time watching TV shows and spend more time building relationships with others. I would read my bible on a regular basis. I would try to enjoy church. I would tell my friends about Jesus. I would stop judging others from what I have heard about them. I would try to eat right and exercise. I would pray in public. I would love everyone in my path. (I could keep going, but I think you get the point). 

And then the question presents itself:

Why don't I change these things now?

The plain and simple truth is that I am frightened. I am afraid of what others will say or think of me. That they will cast me off. But if I truly am a Christian, and truly believe in all the things that I preach, why should I be afraid of that? Shouldn't my one concern be whether or not I truly love Christ, and am loving the world as He does? Because if that is my true concern, nothing else should matter. 

(Not to say that it's easy, but that I need to shift my priorities).

So, the challenge for Lent becomes not what I can give up, but rather what I can do. Can I challenge myself to be more like Christ? Is it possible to love the world like Jesus?

Well, that is what this Lent is for. To challenge ourselves to live out our faith, and to become closer to our Lord in the process. And I am challenging you to do these things as well. Maybe not all of them, but at least consider what you can do in your life to live out your faith. What is possible right now to transform our faith from ashes to fire? To look around yourself and not only give up the now habitual sweets or snacks, but to really see what needs to change in your life to glorify God. 

Ideas? Other things to change? I'm definitely not perfect, and I need to be held accountable too. If you ever need someone to do something with you, just give me a text, email, or Facebook me, and I will be more than happy to do something with you this Lent. 

Glory! 

Walk the Talk

I have always struggled with being a leader. However, if you take a look at my high school resume, it would appear that this is not the case. My high school career was overrun with service projects, volunteering, and even more leadership roles. Ranging from being the appointed leader in a school project; to organizing a team to raise money for cancer treatments as well as being an advocate for cancer patients; directing several productions, managing even more of them; participating in honors classes; being an athlete as well as an arts student; volunteering at historic sites, excelling in music, and participating in honor bands and choirs; to passing legislation regarding the selling of tobacco to minors; there is no shortage of leadership in the last four years of my life. 

When I look back on my high school career, it is easy to say that I was a spectacular leader. That since I did so much, I was obviously very good at being a leader. It is easy to say, "Look at what I did. Look at all I accomplished. Look at all this! I did so much. I should be done being a leader, I filled my quota for the next few years." It's easy to let myself think that I can get away with just sliding by since I have already done so much. 

Yet, when I look at my high school career, I do not think that I excelled as a leader. Why? Because most of those roles were either given to me or were positions where I would not be the sole leader. In many cases, people only listened to me because they had to, or because I had the power of others behind and with me. Very few of the roles that I have written on my resume are roles that I assumed of my own volition and that I had to stand alone for. 

Perhaps I should rescind my earlier statement about struggling to be a leader, and to rephrase it as, "I have always struggled standing alone". This is not something that you would know from my resume, or even from talking to me about many of the things I did. However, this is something that I have known about myself for a very long time, and have only very recently had to uncover it to others. 

When I first became aware that I was called to live in Virginia instead of Colorado, I originally thought that I was moving to be with more people my age. In my mind, I was moving so that I wouldn't be alone in my faith, and so that I wouldn't have to lead by myself. In a perfect world, I would be moving so that others would hold me accountable to my faith. However, the reality of the situation was that I was hoping to escape the responsibility of my new found awareness of my faith through others having stronger faith than me. I didn't want to grow up too fast in my faith. I didn't want to be that person that shared about Jesus on the street corner. At least, not by myself. I didn't want to knock on doors without others support. And I especially didn't want to talk to my friends about their faith without a support group immediately ready to back me up.  

Worlds of difference separate the me I am today, and the me that moved here five months ago. I am happier to be here, as well as more confident in almost every area of my life. I have grown in friendship with so many people, have become confident without a car, and have grown in so much faith with the Lord that sometimes I feel like I can't keep up. Of course, right when I get comfortable with one thing, new challenges make an appearance, and even through all this growth, I still struggle. 

I have recently started working at a coffee shop, and I absolutely love it. I always have something to do, get to meet new people, and have made new friends. In spite of this love, it isn't always easy. There are so many things always going on at once, and so many things to learn, that I am often overwhelmed. But God has blessed me so far. I have been blessed to work with very kind and caring people who don't get mad when I screw up. People that are incredibly patient, who give me opportunities to fix my mistake, and people who, in general, seem to be very nice and empathetic. However, when there isn't so much going on, the conversation tends to go in directions that I normally would just avoid. These conversations normally circle around other people. 

The typical conversations between the coworkers at my coffee shop are about the other coworkers. And now that I work here, it is expected of me to join in these conversations. And as someone who desperately wants to fit in, who desperately doesn't want to stand alone for something, who desperately needs this job, it is incredibly difficult to refrain. It is challenging to refuse to say anything, especially when I am so new, and when others are still forming their opinions of me. 

Normally when I think of leading, I think of standing on a soap box and directing a committee, or organizing an event with every single detail planned out. I often forget that leading by example is one of the most powerful and effective ways to show what your morals. That not talking behind people's backs is even more important than saying that I don't talk behind people's backs. That by being nice and loving to others is more appealing than my telling others that I am a Christian. 

In black and white, practicing what you preach doesn't seem to be such a challenge. In theory, not talking negatively about people will forms others' opinions of me in a positive manner.
But in this instance, others are steering in the direction of "holier than thou". I even have a nickname: "The Jesus Girl".

And I realize now that the Lord has put me here, at this specific coffee shop, for a very specific reason: to stand firm in my faith. To finally stand up for what I believe in, and to not be moved. Not to say that I will not listen to others, that I will not respect their beliefs and faiths, and that I will not strive to be friends with them. But for the first time in my life, when people ask me what I believe in, I am going to say Jesus. And when people ask me what I think of someone, I am going to say that I love them. I am going to stop running away from what the Lord is asking me to do. And for the first time in my life, I am going to walk the talk, and stand completely alone. 

Take a Seat

Serving dinner to the homeless community in CS,  CO

I've been thinking about serving people lately. Not servitude in the traditional sense of the word, rather, doing things for other people. Now, at least for me personally, sometimes I find this to be particularly challenging. I don't want to do things for other people, especially when I am going through a hard time in my own life; I am tired and grumpy from work; I feel like other people don't see my needs, and that they aren't serving me, so really, why should I serve them?; and a bunch of other reasons. It's just plain hard doing nice things for others. It's hard to notice other people's needs and to help them with them. Normally I half-heartedly do something for someone and then throw up my hands and say, "Well, that was nice. Maybe I'll do it again next year.... If I'm feeling generous," and then walk away feeling self-satisfied with myself.

Sound familiar?

(Well, part of me hopes so, because if not, that just means I am really incredibly selfish and that I'm the only one who feels this way. But if you do feel this way, please know that you are not alone).

But, on the flip side, there is the aspect of being served by others. In comparison, this sounds like an easy task, right? Like, other people should know my needs and should be able to figure out what they are, and then help me with things... Sounds pretty awesome, doesn't it? In theory this is, but I am personally inclined to disagree.

I HATE (yes, this is one of the times that I can say this word with utmost confidence that it is true) being served. I would much rather do a thousand services to others than have someone help me. Why? Because it is humbling to be served. It is humbling to ask others for help. And in order to be served, you often must ask. Most others, however attuned they are to your life, are not going to be able to tell when you need help every single minute of the day. And for me, asking for help is hard.

I don't need help! I'm an independent, young, smart, woman who doesn't need anyone else to help her, and who has everything always in place! People who ask for help are losers!

(Well, maybe not that last sentence, but you get the point).

I really don't like asking for help. It really makes me feel weak and vulnerable, and if I can't do something on my own, than I am a failure to myself. That this is a personal shortcoming, and I MUST fix it at whatever the cost. However, I have often found that this thinking is destructive and detrimental not only to me, but to the people around me who are trying to serve me.

Let's give a story why don't we?

So, last Friday night-Valentine's Day- I had nothing to do. No plans, no flowers, no chocolates (except for the ones I had bought myself), and I was hunkering down to have a Netflix marathon. I had tried calling my friend Terri, but she was working a double that day, and would be unable to watch with me. So, as I was preparing myself for the lonesome night with popcorn, one of my friends told me that I should call my friend Shannon and see what she was up to tonight. After calling, it was decided that I was going to hang out with her and the campus guys (Zach, John, and Thomas) for the night. We were going to go to dinner and then go to a bar to listen to some music. Sounded like a pretty stellar night in comparison to Netflix, so I got ready to go, and met everyone at the guy's house. Well, we all bundled into one car, and off we went to a restaurant for dinner. Upon arriving, the guys said that they were going to pay for Shannon and myself. Shannon and I were both pretty excited about it, even though my independent Colorado thoughts started to make an appearance at that statement. Despite my thoughts, we all had an enjoyable dinner, and then there was the small matter of paying the tip.

And of course, since I am an independently-minded individual, I wanted to pitch in for tip. Even though I didn't know the amount of the meal, I knew that it wasn't cheap, and I felt the need to help cover the cost. Of course, the guys told me that they were paying, and that I shouldn't worry about it. However much I insisted, the guys would have none of it, and I left the restaurant with the same amount of money that I walked in with.

After dinner we decided to walk to a bar and listen to a local artist. Now, the artist was late, and we weren't allowed to go to the sitting area yet because he wasn't set up, so we were all crowded near the front of the bar.... Where there was only one seat. After a few minutes of all of us saying that someone else should sit down, Zach finally took it. We all were talking and then he said something along the lines of, "Becca, please, why don't you sit down?" To which I replied (very vehemently), "Thank you Zach, but I don't want to sit. I already said that I don't want to. Thank you, but I am good."

And after I stopped talking, I realized what I had said. And even if I was good enough at improvisation to apologize, the damage had been done. A look of hurt flashed over Zach's face, before he gracefully apologized to me. Let's take a second to let that sink it: ZACH apologized to ME for something rude that I said to HIM....

And in that moment-in that EXACT moment-I knew what it means to serve other people. I knew that it wasn't an attempt to make me seem weak, or imply that I couldn't do something. That it wasn't, in fact, a way of saying that I shouldn't be independent, or to be able to take care of myself. In that moment, I realized that serving others is a manifestation of love that others have for me, and the way that they can express that love is by doing nice things for me. (Even though no one has ever told me anything but this, I can't believe that it took me this long to understand that it was actually true). And I am not only being really rude by declining their kindness, but am not allowing them to express their love and desire to be my friend.....

I'm pretty sure that God put us here and made us social for the express reason of loving each other and doing good things for them. That the main reason that we like other people is to help them with their physical needs so that they may be able to pursue God more fully. It's true that there are more reasons we are here; but I'm pretty positive that the main reason we want to be around other people is to show them what love is and how to share it with others. And since I decline others help so much of the time, I realize now that I am declining the opportunity not only to help others grow through their service, but I am denying myself the opportunity to grow closer to these friends, and to God.

So, this blog post is really just to apologize to the campus guys for the way I acted when they were trying to be so nice to me. I acted rather appallingly. And I would like to thank them so very much for teaching me the true meaning of love through works.

(P.S. If you all want some good reading, here is a link to Zach's blog: http://anunexpectedyear.blogspot.com) Enjoy!

Is God a Candy Dispenser?

I used to think that prayer was something I could control. Like, the harder I prayed, then God would get the hint that I needed something and would give it to me. I always thought the more often I thought about needing something, God would just give it to me because He was annoyed by how often I wanted it. I thought I could shove my way through to God, like when I was a kid and I wanted to be first in line to see Santa. I was always under the assumption that my prayers weren't being answered because God couldn't hear them, and I had hopes that if He would see that I was persistent, He would realize how badly I needed whatever I was praying for.

I have thus discovered that this is not how prayer works.

Even though prayer isn't something that you can muscle your way through, that doesn't mean we should stop praying. God does hear our prayers. And I've seen Him answer some of mine in very tangible ways, and I know that miracles happen every day around the world. I'm not the only one who has seen the presence of God through answered prayers. But sometimes we feel as though prayer just isn't working. When we want something really badly, it's hard not to blame God for not answering our prayers promptly and in the way we desire.

So, I've thought of a really good analogy for prayer. (Well, at least I think it's pretty accurate. At any rate, this is how I think of prayer). Here I go:

Imagine you have a friend who has an unlimited supply of jelly beans. (Slight disclaimer here: imagine that you really love jelly beans, but because you are a poor college student, you can't afford jelly beans. EVER). You don't know where the jelly beans came from, you don't know how they never run out, but they are there nonetheless. And they are spectacular jelly beans. They are the best things you have ever tasted. Normal jelly beans just don't compare with how delicious these ones are. You can't just go and buy these jelly beans from the store, even though you have tried, and when you've bought some, you become more discouraged because they are disappointing compared to your friend's jelly beans.

So, what's the most natural thing to do?

Ask your friend to share some of his jelly beans. And it's not like he's going to run out, EVER, so he doesn't mind giving you any. He doesn't mind giving ANYONE any. But sometimes, when we come back with our hands open to grab some, your friend says, "Nah ah, not today." This seems like a case of tough luck, and in some respects it is; but also, your friend knows that you cannot simply live on a diet of jelly beans. Although he wants to give you all the jelly beans you want, he knows that sometimes we need some fruits and vegetables in our diet to keep us healthy and happy. Not giving us jelly beans isn't hurting your friend in any way, it's not like he's going to run out. But he cares enough about your well being to turn you away. Even though we get angry and tell him that we can't be friends until he gives us what we want. And although what we want is jelly beans, he sends us on our way to find something more sustaining, not for his sake, but for ours.

Sound familiar?

I used to think that God would just give me easy solutions and answers to my prayers, in my own time, in my own place, in my own specifications. I always thought that God was always turning me away because I never saw the answers to my prayers in the ways I had intended. More often than not, I see that the Lord answers all of my prayers, just in very different ways. The Lord isn't doing this for himself, He doesn't want to see me writhe in anguish over the unanswered prayers of my day, but He knows what is best for me. And sometimes (all of the time) what is best for me, is not what I want.

Just ask my mom, she'll tell you how many times she sent me to bed because I wouldn't eat my vegetables.

I often want God to give me those jelly beans, and I think that if I beg loudly and in an annoying fashion, He will give them to me. I think that however much I pray for something, He will finally realize that I won't leave without what I came for, and He'll place it in my grubby, little hands.

I am having to come to terms with this very different image of prayer.

So far in this year of being away from home and not being in school, I have learned that God really does answer my prayers, and that He answers them in ways that are going to better me as a person, and help me to grow. Sometimes growing is painful, and I often don't want God to fix something in a particular way. But if God gave me things on my terms, when would anything work out for His glory? Would I ever take the time to pray to God again, or to praise Him when I could tangibly see the results of my hard praying?

I don't think so.

Adjusting to the idea of God answering my prayers when He knows is best for me, is a hard realization, and I'm still working on it. Sometimes I feel like I've been praying for things for years, and nothing about them is ever going to get better. But I have to remember. My time is different than God's time. According to C.S. Lewis, I am simply a line on a page, something that must travel between point B to go from point A to point C. I can't just skip around. But God is the page I am on. He sees all points in my life that I cannot even imagine, and He sees them all infinitely. What I'm doing tomorrow is His today. He has infinity to observe every single one of my prayers and thoughts. And so I think He knows a little bit better than I do when it comes to answering them.

Here, I'll give an example of a prayer lately. When I worked as a full-time nanny, there wasn't a whole lot of social interaction going on. I prayed almost every single day for God to give me friends, to make me feel less lonely, anything really. And for a while I was frustrated, because it seemed as though God was just letting me go it alone. Now, looking back on the last few months, I realize that God was asking me to turn to Him during this time of trial. To ask Him for help. To trust Him implicitly. (I have never been good with trust, so this has been an incredible challenge). But as soon as I let go of all my inhibitions, I realized that God was providing me with ways to be less lonely. He was giving me creative outlets, such as my blog and social networking. He was giving me interesting people on the bus to meet. He was providing me with a loving campus fellowship to interact with, and a blessed living environment. But most importantly, He was giving me Himself. He was giving me His son. And He was giving me His Holy Spirit.

Now, this is definitely not what I thought would happen. I assumed that God would step in and banish all my feelings of loneliness and anxiety, and I would never experience those again. I thought that the Lord would end my job, giving me another one where I would have more social interactions. But neither of these fantasies would have benefited me in the long run. God forced me to trust in him, a much better technique for long term living. I was forced out of my comfort zone, I was forced to adapt to my surroundings as well as to new ways of thinking. And this has provided me with much more lasting skills which I can use to battle my loneliness and anxiety the next time. If I had simply been easily saved, I wouldn't know how to fix the root of these problems the next time they arise....

That realization in and of itself, is truly amazing. I mean, the Lord of all time and space and imagining is offering HIMSELF to me, because I am lonely, and He is offering me a long-term solution to ALL of my problems. I'm still letting that sink in, but I'm not sure it ever will. It's just too crazy to think about. But when I finally accepted that I needed to trust God more and to learn to be friends with Him first, and then friends with others second; He did answer my prayer for not being at that job any longer, although, yet again, I did not think that it would happen quite the way it did.

So, if there's any singular piece of advice that I can give confidently about anything in my life, it would be this:

Keep Praying.

God's time is not your time, so everything that is going to happen will happen in the best possible way;
because even though you can't see where you're going, God knows your final resting place. And He loves to see you happy. He loves answering your prayers. And He knows exactly when and how to answer them.

Thinking My Way To Happiness....

I've heard from several people lately that they think I'm depressed. Whenever people say that to me, I sort of laugh and joke it off. Tell them that I couldn't possibly be depressed. I tend to describe myself as an upbeat person, someone who likes to laugh, someone who is generally happy. But lately, more and more people have been suggesting that I go and see a doctor. That I go and see someone because they think I'm depressed, and they're worried about my mental state. I know that these people have my best interests at heart, but sometimes this thought just makes me sad.

I can't possibly be depressed! I'm happy, I promise! I think a lot of things are happy! Please don't let me be depressed!

I was talking to one of my friends the other day about maybe being depressed, and how I didn't want to be depressed if I actually was. She looked at me and said, "Becca, it's okay to be depressed. It's not that you aren't strong, it's not that you aren't trying hard at being happy. Sometimes we are just depressed, and we need some help to climb out of it."

See, being strong isn't really my area of expertise. I have no problem not being strong. And I don't think that being depressed is something that is a personal failing. I know that being depressed isn't something that I caused. But still, the thought of being depressed is something that I can't bear the thought of.

Please don't let me be depressed. Please don't let me be depressed. Please don't let me be depressed.

I was talking to my parents earlier, and they were saying that whenever I write anything I sound like I hate the world. That I'm miserable. That I hate where I'm at and that I have no joy in my life. And maybe that's true, to some degree. Maybe I have been through some pretty miserable situations lately, and maybe I'm not handling it as well as I should, but that doesn't make me depressed does it?

Every time I think about being depressed, I think back to my previous job experience. I was working at a pool as a lifeguard. I was working with some of my friends, and my employer was my swim coach, so I knew him pretty well. It was a pretty good set up, except for the fact that I opened the pool before 5 am every morning over the summer (and pretty regularly over the school year), and it was starting to catch up with me. I remember one day when I was sitting in the guard stand, and my boss came over to me and we started talking. We had a fairly typical conversation, going something like this:

"Hey Becca, how are you?"
"Oh, you know, I'm tired."
"You're always tired."
"Well, you would be tired too if you woke up at 4 every morning to be here and then just had to sit here and watch a pool, and then be forgotten by your coworkers for a few hours. I think I have every right to be tired."
You know what Becca? You are one of the most negative people I have ever met...."

That's how the conversation ended. I didn't want to talk about it afterwards. When I left work that afternoon, I ended up throwing myself on my bed, too upset to do anything else. I mean, ouch! That really hurt. Here was my idol, my swim coach, my friend, and my employer, telling me that I was one of the most negative people he had ever met. And I'm fairly certain that he's met a lot of people.

I don't think I'm a negative person! I don't think I'm sad and depressing! I don't want to be those things! That's not who I am!

But I think at some point I need to accept that maybe I am that person. That maybe I am that sad depressing person who doesn't ever say anything positive, that throws herself on her bed and sobs when things don't go her way, who gets upset easily, who is always tired, and who is always negative. Maybe I need to accept that that is really who I am.

Throughout my life, people have been telling me that you are what you think. You are what you make of yourself. You are who you try to be. But I'm sick of people telling me that. Because it's obviously not true. If I could will power my way to being happy, I would already be there. I wouldn't be negative or depressed. I wouldn't be writing this. I would probably be writing something about kittens and their impact on the internet. Or something about rainbows.

The person I thought I was for so many years was someone who was positive, persistent, loyal, funny, enthusiastic, passionate, loving, and happy. Because that's who I thought I was, that's how I thought everyone else saw me.

But I guess I was wrong.

Please don't let me be depressed. I don't want to be depressed. I don't want to be sad. I just want to be happy. Please let me be happy.

At Christmas eve mass, my friend (who happens to be the priest at that church) told me a different homily that he almost gave before deciding on the one that I had just heard. (Not that the one I heard was bad, on the contrary, I liked it rather a lot). It started with a quote from David Crowder: "Have you ever noticed that the sky goes all the way to the ground?" My friend goes on to explain that the sky isn't something that we have to be high up to be a part of, we are all the way in the sky right now. Only the soles of our feet are ever touching the ground because the rest of us is in the sky. He continues by saying that our lives should be dedicated to finding that balance between the sky and the ground, the divine and the human, you could say. That our lives are a constant struggle between falling, walking, and leaping.

I was struck by the poetry of this idea, and how literally and figuratively I could relate it to my life. Until this point in my life, I had always thought that I found a good balance between the sky and the ground. But, as people more constantly tell me that I am something that I'm not, I can't help but feel that maybe I've been on my knees this whole time, and that I have no idea what balance actually is. That I've never known what balance means.

So, this is the last post of 2013. This might be my last blog post for a very long time. Even though the person that I thought I was and the person I am are two very different beings- I can at least say with the utmost confidence that the point of this blog was not to be miserable and depressed. The point was not to bring people down with my words, or to make it sound as thought I hate my life and the experiences I am having. On the contrary, I made this blog to document the bad-ass stuff the Lord is trying to do with me in this year off from school.

And apparently, that isn't coming across. So, I'm going to give up the blog for a while. I'm going to try and see what is happening with me and see how I can become the person that I think I am. Maybe when I post again, I won't be depressed. Maybe by the next time I post, I will have found a balance between the earth and sky, and I'll be happy.

Goodbye Bus Stop, Hello Card Games! (Part 4 of the Women on the Bus)

So, I said there would only be three parts of this post, but I think it's really important that I include this last story as a part of this series.... Enjoy!

This particular story is going to start on Friday morning; it's cold, it's damp, I am scared sockless that the baby is going to be a teething monster. I am praying my entire way to work, "Please don't let the baby be teething, please don't let the baby be teething, please don't let the baby be teething." I am almost sick with the idea that today might be like yesterday. I consider calling in sick, turning around, playing hookie! Anything to keep today being like it was yesterday. But I drag myself in to the apartment anyways. The parents leave, and it's the three of us, like always. Anna, myself, and the baby. We are sitting around the living room, and I'm trying to make Anna read. (Because Anna hates reading, this is always a monumental task). Finally, after about five minutes of frustration, I tell her that she can read with her mom when she gets home, and she agrees and puts away the book.

Normally I would keep trying to make her read, but I'm exhausted at this point, and I'm doing my best to stay awake and not bite her head off. So, then we start talking and joking with each other. "Becca, if you do this for me, I'll hold the baby," she wheedles. "Well," I reply, "if you change her diaper than you can hold her." I'm trying to joke with her. This is something that I would say to my own nine-year-old sister. She doesn't seem impressed though. "That's not my job. That's your job. You're the one getting paid for it."

At this point, I forget that I am supposed to be the adult, and that she is not my friend. That she is a nine-year-old girl who tells her mother everything I say and do. I forget that I'm supposed to be mature and tell her that I'll do it, I was just joking, and let her hold the baby. Instead, I respond with something along the lines of, "Yeah, well there are a lot of things that I do that I'm not being paid for." I continue for a minute, before realizing that some of these things (aka, all of these things) are not for her to be hearing. These frustrations are something that I'm supposed to bring up with her parents, and I realize that some of them must sound really hurtful. I apologize, and go about changing the baby, and the letting Anna hold her. I then go and make Anna breakfast, and we continue about our morning. About twenty minutes later, a mother in  the neighborhood comes and picks up Anna for school, and I am left to my own devices with the baby.

The day is better than the previous day. I do not feel the urge to hide under a rock. I don't have the desire to run away and never come back. It's a fairly good day. The baby has new teething medicine, and isn't in as much pain, so I'm not as frustrated as I was on Thursday. The day goes well, until the end.

I'm all ready to go home, when Anna and  her mother come in. Her mother (we'll call her Lisa), sends Anna outside to walk the dog, leaving me alone with her and the baby. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but I can tell that something isn't right.

She begins the conversation by asking me what I had said to Anna that morning. I tell her, and then told her that I had apologized and asked for forgiveness, and that I thought we had made up for it. But apparently I was wrong. Apparently, Anna had a horrid day at school, because she couldn't stop thinking about our conversation. She left the house thinking that I hated her, that I was never going to be nice to her ever again, that I was going to be mean to her forever.

Well, that wasn't quite what I was expecting to hear, but I told Lisa that I would apologize again. Lisa went on to say that it would be okay, as long as I wanted to keep working for them.

At this point, I did not want to keep working for them. Not at all. Not one, single, iota. For weeks, I had been thinking about giving my notice. For three solid weeks I had been meditating and praying about when to give my notice. (Since they needed two months, I wasn't sure when a good time would be). And at this point, I was almost fed up enough to quit. But I offered up a prayer, and then plunged in.

"Lisa, I don't want to lie to you. I don't want to say that everything is fine when it isn't. That would just ruin the trust that we've built over the past few months, and I don't want to do that. But I would be lying if I told you that I hadn't been thinking about giving my notice for a while now."

She stares at me, almost in disbelief. Then she says, "Well, it makes sense why you haven't been doing your best now. I've had a feeling that something's been bothering you for the past few weeks anyways."

Well, that stings. I mean, hadn't I just said that I didn't want to betray her trust, but here she was, betraying mine? I was hurt, but I kept going.

"Lisa, I love you and your husband, and I love your children. I really do. But I have found there to be several stresses about this job...."

I didn't even get a chance to finish before she cut me off. "No. I disagree with you. I work very hard at making your job stress-free, and I think you have a very easy job."

Well, this conversation was not going as planned. But I plowed ahead anyways, and we talked for another ten minutes or so. I was sad, and she was frustrated, which is never a good combination when two people are talking about work. So I ended up leaving a few minutes later, sobbing. I felt fired. Originally, her and her husband wanted me to stay for another two months so that they could find someone else. But Lisa had ended the conversation with, "Well, we probably won't need you after break anyways."

Man, that hurt. A lot. I mean, I've never been fired before. Is this how it's supposed to feel? Are you supposed to be sobbing, and not know why? Are you supposed to be weepy because you are sad, but at the same time, you are overjoyed? I don't think so. But then again, I don't know. I've only ever had two jobs, and now I can say that I've had a fifty percent rate of being fired. Which doesn't sound good at all.

But, I hadn't really been fired, had I? I mean, she just said "probably". That didn't mean it was over, did it? As I walked to the bus, these thoughts kept circulating through my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't breathe (except for those gasping breaths that make you sound like a fish out of water). I tried to call my mom. She didn't pick up. I tried again, and again, and again. Finally I gave up and called my father. He answered the phone, and I just started crying. He waited patiently for me to start talking, and finally I started giving him the story. I couldn't go more than five words without a fresh wave of tears making an appearance. After a few minutes of this, my dad began talking.

"Becca, I think you should go see a doctor. I think that you're depressed. I mean, why else would you be crying about this? You've wanted to leave this job since you got there, you shouldn't be sobbing over this...."

I hung up.

This is not what I wanted to hear. Not at all. I wanted some words of comfort, some promises of "life is going to be better", maybe even an, "it's okay". I did not want someone telling me that I was depressed. No. I refuse. I do not want to go see a doctor, at this moment, I did not want to even accept this possibility as a reality.

The bus picks me up, and I pull myself together enough to get on without anyone asking me questions. I begin listening to my book on tape, ("Eat. Pray. Love"), and settle in for an uneventful ride back home. It is. I make it home, stagger up the steps, and realize that the door is locked. Good. That means that no one is home. So I struggle with the lock for a few minutes, and then run inside, slamming the door behind me. I throw my belongings on the floor of my bedroom, slam the door, curl up in the fetal position, and cry myself to sleep.

Well, I'm pretty sure I'm asleep, because the next thing I remember is Vince knocking on my door, asking if I want Chinese food or pizza. (Vince is the youngest son of the family I am staying with, and he's visiting home for a bit). I turn over groggily, tell him that I want Chinese, and then drag myself out of my cocoon. I have been sleeping for over two hours, no wonder I feel like I was just drugged and dragged to a remote location. I make it upstairs, and settle in to the rocking chair in the living room. Vince is sitting on the couch and asks me nonchalantly how my day was.

"Awful. I was fired."

He turns to look at me. "Oh. Well, that's unfortunate." We eat the rest of the meal in silence. Tom and Therese ask me a few questions about my day, but it isn't until later that night that I tell Therese everything that happened. She gave me a big hug and told me that God was answering my prayers. I agreed, although there was still a slight disconnect between my brain and my emotions. I played cards with Vince, and then went to sleep an hour later. I woke up on Saturday feeling slightly better, although I wasn't sure how to feel about it in the first place. Finally, through the course of the day, I told Vince what had happened, and he was pretty good about cheering me up. He let me play some card games that I could win, at any rate. Later, Therese suggested that I write an email to Lisa, explaining some things that had not been said in the conversation. That way the whole incident on Friday would be a victory for the Kingdom, and so that Satan couldn't worm his way in to the whole thing.

But try as I might, I could not write the letter. I didn't know how to say what I wanted without sounding like a terrible person, someone who was trying to blame the whole situation on the other party. That's not what I wanted. I thought a lot about my book on tape this weekend. Elizabeth Gilbert is a fantastic writer, and this is about the fifth time I have either read or listened to this book. But this time I kept thinking about her divorce with her husband. She has a section dedicated to the divorce process, probably because this implemented the whole idea of the entire book. But there's a specific quote that I kept thinking about.

At this moment, she is talking about writing the divorce settlement. She just wants to be done with this divorce because she doesn't want to cause him any additional pain. "My first attempt at settlement was a fifty-fifty split. You take what is yours, I will take what is mine. We split everything from the house to the furniture in half. But my husband did not want that. So I suggested a new fifty-fifty split. He would get everything, and I would get all the blame."

The first four times I read this I did not understand it at all. I mean, how rude, right? How inconsiderate of her husband, and she shouldn't give in! But this weekend, I finally knew what she was talking about. I reached a point where I did not want to bring up any more hurts. Since I love this family so much, all I wanted to do was to peacefully leave their lives, and even though that didn't seem like it was going to happen, that's all I wanted. I felt like saying, "Here, take all your problems with me, let me have my problems with me, and I'll take the blame for the mistakes I made, and everything bad that happened. Just go and be happy, and find a new nanny. Don't be angry with me anymore, I'll give you what you want."

Most of the world doesn't truly understand this concept. Or there is the mental recognition, but not the emotional attachment that should follow. But I fell in love with this idea. Just let me take the blame for all of this please, just let it be over.

Because the baby had a doctor's appointment on Monday to get some hearing aids, I wasn't supposed to go to work until noon. Well, since all of the buses either leave very early or very late, I arranged with me friend to take me. We had everything planned out, and then Lisa texts me. She says that she will come get me. My immediate reaction is "NO! Anything but that! I can't spend a whole half an hour in the same car as you! What will you say to me? Are you going to hurt my feelings even more? Please, anything else." But I steel myself for the ride, and she comes to get me.

By the time she has fully parked in the driveway, I am out the door. I am ready to go. I have all my stuff, and am ready for the day. But as soon as I open the passenger door, she steps out of the car. She comes around the front, and precedes to tell me that she is nervous having me around her children, that she doesn't think I will do a good job of looking after them if all I think about is wanting more money, and that she had a bad feeling about me coming back. She writes me a check for the first half of December, asks for her house key back, and then leaves.

I slowly gather up my stuff, and walk up the stairs to the house. I am shaking so hard that I can barely turn the handle, but I make it inside. Before I'm even fully in the door, I throw my backpack in to a corner of the room, say, "Guess who just got fired?" and burst in to tears. (Poor Vince. He must think I'm going crazy. He must think that he's going to go crazy having me around for the next week. And let's face it, I'm not doing a good job of appearing in control of my mental capacities at the moment). I make it to my room, and face plant on my bed. I stay there for about four hours. I did not think that this would happen. I thought that my suffering would be staying at this job for a long period of time, and all of a sudden, it's just all gone. I'll never get to see Anna again. Never get to play with the baby again. I'm devestated.

But four hours later, I get up and start laughing. I can't stop laughing. Here I am, lying on my bed, depressed, because of the very thing I've wanted for a while! I've been worrying about how to leave for the last two months, and I didn't even have to initiate the conversation! The relief floods over me as I sit on my bed and laugh.

God has the funniest way of answering my prayers. He really does.

Not to say that there aren't still moments where I am saddened by my recent unemployment. Or that I am not upset by the whole sticky mess that was left behind. But there are also pure moments of clarity where I realize that I never have to go back, that I will never have to wake up at 5 to commute an hour to work, that I will not have to deal with a teething baby for a while, that Primela gave me a prophecy that came true immediately.

(You all were probably wondering when I was going to bring her up again, weren't you).

Sometimes I just sit down in shock when I think about the conversation I had with Primela on Thursday evening, and think about the events that immediately transpired. This woman, not really knowing me, felt God calling her to tell me something, something that happened overnight! I can't even begin to tell you how amazing this makes me feel.

A few times over the past week, I have had second guesses about the job. "Maybe I should throw myself at Lisa's feet and beg for her forgiveness. Maybe if I apologize enough, she won't hate me. Maybe I'll get my job back if I bake her cookies." But then I remember:

God gave me a direct word about leaving this job, and then it happened.

And who am I to argue with God speaking through a woman on the bus?

Some of you are probably confused as to why this one is included in the series. Well, I debated for a while, because the connection is much weaker than the first two. But I thought it was pretty cool that I got a prophecy from a woman on the bus, and the fact that it came to fruition the next day. I also wanted to let people know that I was unemployed all in one place, and I didn't see the point in making a big deal about it. I mean, it happened, but I don't want to exacerbate the problem. But the biggest reason that this is included in the series? I am one of those women on the bus. I sometimes forget that I am a mature adult who rides the bus, and thus, is allowed to be included in my series of vignettes. 

Thank you for your time, I hope you all keep reading my stories! 

Becca