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 

Bhagavāna Kī Bāla (Part 3 of The Women on the Bus)

So, I left off at the end of Mitsa's story. I saw her for the next few days, and then I had the week of Thanksgiving off, and then I didn't have to go back to work until the 12th of December. (In this week of I went to see some friends in Connecticut, but that's a whole different story in itself.) So, let's begin, shall we?

So, I went back to work on the 12th of December, and the odd part about the beginning of my day, was that no one was at the bus stop with me. Normally I stand in the frigid air with two women- Primela and Tooey. Today, neither of them were there. Now, I was only slightly put off by this because I was exhausted. I mean, it's really challenging to go from waking up at 12 to waking up at 5. So, I get on the bus, make it to the Pentagon, catch another bus, and make it to work. Now, it's a very cold day, it's maybe only 30 degrees at the moment, so I don't have to walk Anna to school today. Another mom will pick her up, which I am totally fine with. But, this also means that I have to spend more time with the baby. I love the baby.... 

Except when she's teething.

When she's teething, I want to run away and hide. There is nothing I can do for her except hold her all day as she cries and screams in agony. The only medicine I can giver her is Tylenol, which doesn't seem to be helping at all. I try giving her different teething toys, but she rejects them all. So, for the next 9 hours, I am stuck holding a screaming baby as I try to go about my daily routine. Frustrated, I call some friends, my parents, everyone I can think of really, who might have some experience calming a teething baby. But the advice is all the same: unfortunately I've just got to stick this one out. 

Needless to say that by the end of the day, I am exhausted. I am frustrated. I have screamed to God that I never want to have kids. EVER! I have packed everything up to leave by the time 4 o'clock rolls around. And then no one comes home except for Anna. Anna's mother then calls me and tells me that she might be late. Her husband will also be late, so would I mind staying late? Well, there's not much I can do except stay later. I stay for another 45 minutes. Finally Anna's mother comes home, and I am allowed to leave. I am nearly in tears at this point. It was a stressful day anyways, but then I had another 45 minutes, missed the first 2 buses that I would normally take, and the next bus wouldn't get me home until after 6:30.

Needless to say, I was very stressed when I got on the bus to go to the Pentagon.

So, I got off at the Pentagon bus station, go down the stairs, and see an outrageously long line for the bus that I am supposed to take. But then again, they could all be waiting for different buses at the same stop. Either way, the line stretches three stops past the original one. I have just walked all the way to the front, and am making my way to the very back when someone stops me. It's Primela. She grabs my arm and gives me a huge hug. She smiles radiantly, and asks me where I've been for the past 2 weeks, and why she hasn't seen me at the bus stop. She asks me if this is the bus that I normally take, and I respond that it isn't. "I had to stay at work late today," I tell her. "Oh, that's so funny," she responds, "I got off work early today. This isn't the bus that I normally take either!" So, we start talking, and then, miraculously, our bus comes early. We are able to get on and find seats next to each other, and we begin talking about our days.

Soon, I am telling her about the terrible day I just had. She sits and listens patiently. I start spilling out why I was frustrated with the job in general, everything from getting up early, to the amount I was being paid, to the teething infant. After a few minutes, I manage to calm myself down. I sit and wait for her to say something. She looks at me, and then starts speaking.

"Rebecca. I totally know where you are coming from. I was a live-in nanny when I was 19 years old. I remember when the baby was teething. Oh my goodness! It got to the point where I did not want my own children."

"Yes," I say, "I hit that point today! I never want my own children if that is what it's like."

She smiles and continues, "Even today, when I am significantly older, I still did not want children. My husband always wanted many kids. But we had one, and I told him that I was done. I did not want more than one. I do not think that I could have done a good job of raising more than one."

She talks about her son for a minute, and then remembers that we are talking about my job. "Well Rebecca," she continues, "when I was a live in nanny, that was the most difficult time of my life. I had just moved from my home in India to a new home in Quebec. (Which finally explains her unique accent). I wanted to go to school there, and the only way to pay for it was to be a nanny. Oh, none of my university friends knew how hard it was! None of them could imagine why I was tired, why I didn't want to party, why I couldn't do things with the during the day. None of them understood that I worked a full eight hour day and then took a bus to night school, and then went back and did it all again. No one realized that it was challenging to raise a child. Granted, I only had one to look after, but I was so stressed and tired all the time that I am surprised that I lasted as long as I did."

She takes a pause to look at me, and she grabs my hand. We hold hands for a minute, and then she continues her story. "Well, I remember when I would call my parents in India, and I would cry to them. I remember asking them how they did it. How they managed to raise so many children. How I did not think I could do it any longer. And I remember that my mother told me- I will never forget this Rebecca- she said, 'Primela. If it is too much for you, then you are free to quit. You are free to leave. You may come home if you want. Nothing you do will change your father's and my love for you.' Hearing this from my mother gave me the courage to talk to the people I was working for. I was able to leave the job and find a job that did not make me so frustrated with life. I made it through university without going insane. I mean, Rebecca, I thought I was going to go completely insane!"

She continues to hold my hand as I listen to her soothing voice telling me about her past. It is so comforting to know that someone else has gone through this exact thing, at almost exactly the same age that I am, and had the exact same reaction. I am relieved- part of me thought I was a monster for not wanting kids, or for being stressed and frustrated all the time. I began feeling this weight lifting from my chest.

She continues, "Rebecca. I am going to give you some advice. But first, I am going to tell you why. You want to know why? Because I love you. Why do I love you? Because you are a child of God. You are a blessed child of the heavenly father, and He is so proud of you. He sees what you do every day. And He loves you so much. And I love you so much. And what kind of mother would I be if I didn't give my daughter advice? Yes Rebecca, you are my daughter. I am your mother away from home, and I know that I will not replace your mother, but your family will grow with me and my family."

I stare at her in wonder, but I don't know what to say. So she gives me a hug, and then keeps talking. "Rebecca, I think that the world is full of a cosmic "pay it forward". I think that everything we do will come back to us in one way or another. Regardless of good or bad, we will receive that again. And I saw what you did for that woman on the bus earlier. The one you prayed with. (She is talking about Mitsa). Rebecca, you may not know this, but I work with her. And you are all she ever talks about. She only talks about how you healed her, how you brought her hope when she had none. She only ever says how thankful she is for you and for your influence in her life. She says that she has started praying again, has started going to church again. She sees the colors in the world again. And she always thanks God for you. Every day. And Rebecca, you did not even know her! You followed God without any doubts, and He sees that, and He is so proud of you. You are His lovely daughter, who has the power to change lives. And you are! I saw you! And I continue to see that woman every day, even though we don't work directly together, every time I pass her in the halls she tells me about how much faith she has now and how thankful she is for you."

I start tearing up. I mean, wow. How is someone supposed to react to that? Primela squeezes my hand and continues, "So, Rebecca. I know that you love this family. And I see that you love them very much, because why else would you be here very early every morning? Why else would you be going home so late? I see that you love them and want to care for this family as best as you can. And I see that the Lord is using you in their lives. I see that. And I know that God has you where He wants you. But I can also hear God saying that the test is drawing to a close, and that very soon you will need to leave this job. That you will need to spend some time loving yourself. You will need to find a job that pays you better, that provides for your needs. He is saying that you are doing so well, that you couldn't be doing a better job, and that soon your suffering here will be over. And Rebecca, this is not me, this is God. He is telling you this. He is bringing around your cosmic pay it forward. He is letting you know through me that he is thankful for you bringing Mitsa back to Him, and that He will provide for you in ways you can't even imagine."

I really am crying now, and Primela gives me another hug. "I love you Rebecca. Never forget that you are not only God's daughter, but you are my daughter now."

I whisper back, "Thanks Primela. I love you too."

The moment we break apart, we realize that our stop is coming up. A minute later, we are off the bus, and standing in the dark evening. She gives me another hug. "If I do not see you again, Merry Christmas Rebecca. Merry Christmas." She turns to leave, and I turn in the opposite direction to go home.

I am no longer angry about leaving work so late. If I had made the early bus, then I would not have had a chance to talk to Primela, and my day would have continued to be awful. As I walked home, I was truly in awe of the Lord and His methods of throwing people into our lives. I am still in awe of this encounter, and I don't think I will forget it any time soon.

So ya'll. That's the end of the 3rd story. And technically that means that I should be done with this series. But I do have one more story to share. There has been another miracle this weekend, and I want to share it as a part of this series. So, hopefully I'll get the 4th part up tomorrow

Thank you for sticking this out and keeping up with my crazy life :)

Nǐ Kěyǐ Zhèyàng Zuò (Part 2 of The Women on the Bus)

In case ya'll aren't aware, this is a continuation of my previous blog update, so if you haven't read the first one then you should definitely go do that. Not only will you be slightly confused, but by the time the 3rd part comes out you will definitely have no idea what is happening. I mean, they're all great stand alone stories, but I think some parts might not make sense....( Anyways, if you need a link, because you're lazy like me, here it is: http://learningtowalktogether.blogspot.com/2013/12/puedo-hablar-con-dios-en-espanol-part-1.html) Fair warning, this one will be the shortest in the trilogy, so don't think that I'm trying to skimp by making it into 3 parts ;)

So.... Where was I?

Let's give a short recap. I had prayed over Mitsa the previous day (Thursday), and she seemed to be incredibly open to the Lord and what He wanted to change in her life. Now, it's (Friday), and I have just entered the bus and passed Mitsa. And although she seems happy enough, I notice that her knee (the one I neglected to pray over yesterday!) is now in a brace.....

I think I'm all caught up....

Now, I'm sitting on the bus, almost in the complete back, jamming out to my music. Well, jamming is a rather intense word for silently listening to Contemporary Christian music at 6:30 in the morning, but I'll roll with it. So, I'm listening to my music, when all of a sudden, out of no where, I decide to look up. It's a split second decision, maybe my brain thought it would be a good idea to look out the window and watch the traffic? A second later, I notice that someone is pointing at me. It take a moment for me to register that I am looking at Mitsa. She is sitting in her normal spot, smiling, AND POINTING DIRECTLY AT ME. My first instinct is to hide my face or turn away. Maybe if I can't see her than she won't see me. But I don't. I simply take out my earbuds to see what she is doing.

Since there are so few people who are actually awake for this bus ride, it is incredibly easy to hear what she is saying now that I'm not listening to my Jesus Jam.

"That woman there. You see her? Yes, that woman (meaning me)." She is talking excitedly to a man in military dress next to her. I'm not sure what rank he is, but he seems to be listening intently to whatever she had been saying previously. He is now looking at me with the same curious intention, and I'm a little uneasy about it. Therefore, the only logical thing to do is to keep listening.

"Yes. That woman there. Yesterday, she pray with me. She pray with me for my heart. My heart to get better. All better. She pray for my son, that he come home. That he come home from overseas. That he is not injured and that he is well and safe. And you know? I feel better. More at peace. That woman. She has God in her. She does! She has God in her, and I am so blessed to sit with her yesterday!" The man is now looking at me, really looking, and he seems impressed. Mitsa stops pointing at me and waves in my direction. Blushing, I wave back. I hadn't been thinking about interacting with Mitsa after I prayed with her, I had only wanted to help her feel better. But now she was getting excited about me, and this man was too. I heard him turn to her and say something along the lines of "Not many young people in this world know God. I am very impressed." (Granted, I might have misheard. I was far back, and this was about 3 weeks ago.)

We are nearing the Pentagon now, and I really want to go and talk to Mitsa. So, instead of rushing off to catch my early connecting bus to my job, I stick around a bit. I wait until Mitsa walks off the bus. She sees me and then rushed over as fast as her leg can handle. I walk up to her with a smile, and she embraces me tightly. This was not exactly what I had been expecting, but I could go with it. I asked her how she was feeling, and she said that she was feeling better. She said her heart was no longer broken, and that God was pulling her together again. She had heard from her son very briefly, and it sounded like he was going to be okay. I asked her about the man she was talking to on the bus, and she said that God was obviously trying to tell her something because He had sent ME yesterday, and sent a MILITARY PRIEST to her today. Apparently he was stationed in the Eastern half of the world, and had a lot of fascinating stories of people who wanted (and didn't want) to find God but didn't know how (or lived in communist countries).

"You know Becca (She says my name sort of like you're trying to say 'bacon' except without the 'n')? I am feeling a lot more grateful for my freedom here. I can love God. And I can choose to love Him. I don't  have to, but I have the right and freedom to do so, so, why wouldn't I? Thank you so much for praying with me yesterday."

Then, in the middle of the Pentagon bus terminal, I ask if I can pray for healing for her knee. (I could feel God in theback of my mind whispering, "You can do it!") She says okay, and for a minute we both stand there in the middle of all these people running to catch their trains. My hand is on her shoulder, her hands are clasped around her bag. I would have placed my hands on her knee, but I knew she had a train to catch, so I didn't want to keep her too long. So, I said a quick prayer for complete healing, for all the pain to be gone, and for everything to go back to normal in her knee. She then rushes off to catch her train with a quick "Goodbye! Thank you!"

I slowly walk to my bus station. I now have another 18 minutes to think about what just happened. I mean, wow. I have never prayed with someone outside of the People of Praise.... Ever.... Sometimes I don't even pray with People of Praise members because it scares me. And here I am, praying for this woman that I don't know, that I have never truly met, and that I will probably never know. I am in awe of the Lord and His plans for me, and what He wants me to do for Him.

I'm sure that something spectacular will come from Mitsa, and I hope that I will be able to witness that directly. But for now, I just know that she is feeling better and happier then she has in a long time....

To Be Continued.....

Okay, so the story of Mitsa is almost over, but if I continued it here I would have a novel.... Not a bad idea, now that I think about it, but I figured I would save all of you from too much reading. The 3rd part will be about someone completely different, but you'll see how it all ties together, I promise. 

Thank you for reading! 

¿Puedo Hablar Con Dios en Español? (Part 1 of The Women on the Bus)

So, ya'll know that I take a very early morning bus to the Pentagon right? This bus leaves at around 6:20 in the morning, ensuring that I get to work between 7 and 7:20. Normally the bus that I take is incredibly packed, I guess that a lot of people that work at the Pentagon live in Springfield or Fairfax, but either way, that normally means that there are only a few seats left by the time the bus makes it to my stop. Well, anyways, normally I listen to my Pandora on my phone in the mornings, so I generally don't interact too much with the other people on the bus.

Well, a few weeks ago (I know, I'm sorry I'm just putting this up now), I decided,

"You know what? I am going to NOT listen to my music, and instead, I'm going to PEOPLE WATCH!"

Well, as it turns out, people on the bus at 6:20 in the morning are not very interesting. Most of them sit slumped in the hard backed seats, heads lolled to one side, drowning out their exhaustion with music and caffeine. Normally I join them, but today, I have decided that I will not give in, and instead see these people as people, instead of simple animated objects that accompany me to work every morning.

On this particular morning, the first indication that something would happen was that the bus was nearly empty. Normally there are only a few seats near the back available. Well, on this occasion, there were so many open seats that I didn't feel bad sitting in one of the front seats that are reserved for handicap and elderly citizens. I figured I could always move if someone else got on the bus. But, no one did. So, for the first half of the bus ride, I contented myself with staring at different people, and tried to imagine what they were feeling. What they did for a living, where they were going, why they were getting there so early, so on and so on. As I continued sweeping the bus for any interesting people, I noticed the woman sitting directly in front of me. She was sitting across the aisle from me, and I instantly knew that I was going to go and talk to her. My heart started pounding like it normally does when the Holy Spirit prompts me to do something, and my hands started sweating.

"God, I CAN'T go and talk to this woman! What am I going to say? What am I going to do?"

I sit in my seat, feeling like I've just run a marathon, looking at this woman. I have seen her before. She is always on the bus. Always sitting in the same seat. She always greets me with a smile and a hand squeeze. I feel like I kind of know this woman, but I realize now that I don't. I don't really know this woman. I don't know anything about her. But the Lord obviously wants me to talk to her.

There are still twenty minutes left, do I really have to go talk to her?

Well, I keep looking at her, and I notice that she looks incredibly sad. I hadn't been paying too much attention earlier, but she hadn't greeted me with a smile earlier this morning. She had only looked at me as I walked to my seat across from her. As I watched her now, I got the feeling that she needed healing from a broken heart.

Really Lord?!?!?!

I mean, how do you introduce yourself to pray for someone for something that personal? "Hi, how are you? I don't really know you, sure, I see you on the bus every morning, but I really got the feeling that you needed some prayers for a broken heart. May I pray with you for that?"

Yeah.... That was not going to happen...

So, I keep staring at her. Ten minutes to the Pentagon. And I know that I need to talk to her. I watch her. She wipes a tear from her eye. Five minutes to the Pentagon. Suddenly, I am very sure that her knee needs healing as well. All right, I can work with this.

So, I take a deep breath, and heart-pounding, knees-knocking, I stand up, and quickly cross to the empty seat beside her.

"Hey!"

She looks at me. Her face slowly lights up, as though she's remembering that she knows how to smile. She says "Good morning" in response. This is off the a great start.

"How are you doing today? I couldn't help but notice that you were looking really sad, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

She bursts in to tears.

Okay, I am not prepared for this. I offer up a quick prayer, "Lord, a little guidance here?"

She calms down a little bit, and tells me, in halting English, that her youngest son is overseas and he was in some sort of accident. She doesn't know what sort of accident-- no one will tell her. She is terrified that her boy is injured, that he will come home in terrible condition. That he might not come home at all.

So, I take her hand in mine, and we begin this short conversation:

"I'm so sorry," I say, "Here, I don't think I caught your name earlier. Mine is Becca."
"Mitsa." She responds, smiling through her tears.
"Well Mitsa, I'm a Christian, and I was wondering if I could pray with you for your son?" (I decide to leave out the bit about her knee. I'm not sure how to bring that up yet.)
She looks at me, a little shocked. "Well, I would, but I only pray in Spanish."
(At this point I am very frustrated with God. Why would He send me over here if it was going to be this challenging)? "Well, Mitsa, I think if you start praying in Spanish and I start praying in English, someone will get the message, and our prayers will be answered."

She stares at me for a second, and then starts praying in fluent Spanish. I pause, and then begin. I say a short prayer for her son, and I pray for him to be returned home safely. I pray for Mitsa's worry and stress to go away, for her heart to be restored, and told her that even though she felt like she couldn't go on any further, the Lord was carrying her and her whole family at this very moment. I end a moment later, and thank God for the day and for our time together in prayer. I look up at Mitsa (my eyes have been closed in terror up to this point) and I see her looking at me in complete astonishment. She gives me a huge kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you.... Becca. Thank you so much. You are so.... sweet. I feel as though there has been a huge.... weight lifted from my heart. I feel the Lord right now. You are so...... beautiful. Thank you so much."

At this point, we are entering Pentagon station, so I get up to return to my seat. I sit down, and realize that I am shaking like a leaf. But I know that I did the right thing. I know that Mitsa needed some serious intervention, and that even though I was frikin' terrified the entire time, the Lord was really going to do spectacular things. I go to grab my backpack, but the woman next to me stops me. I look over and realize that this woman is the same woman that I see every morning at my bus stop. Her name is Primela, and we are becoming very good friends during our daily encounters in the freezing air. She places her hand on mine and says "Thank you". Thank you for what? I didn't do anything for her. But she looks over at Mitsa and says in her Indian-French accent (I'll explain later), "That took serious courage. I did not have that kind of courage. Thank you for loving that woman."

Now it really is time to get off the bus. I feel like I'm walking on air. Sometimes the Lord amazes me with His audacity. Even though I don't understand what I do for the Lord most of the time (all of the time), I realize that even though I don't see the larger plan, I am still at least a part of the plan. This realization makes me even happier. And even though the rest of the day is pretty awful, that encounter makes me smile every time I think about it.

So.....

The next morning, the bus is crowded as usual. I am forced to sit in the back. I hate the back of the bus. The seats are slightly more crammed together, and you're higher up, so you're looking down on other people's heads, which slightly unnerves me. But that's a story for a different day. I am going to finish the story of Mitsa (up to this point) and then ask a question.

So, I'm walking to the back of the bus. And I walk past Mitsa. She gives me a humongous smile as I past. I wanted to sit next to her to ask her how she was doing. But all the seats are full, so I shuffle by. I don't really realize what I'm seeing until I sit down and place my backpack on the floor. Although Mitsa is smiling, her knee is in a brace.

THE SAME KNEE I DIDN'T PRAY OVER YESTERDAY!!!!!

Wow. Okay. I was not expecting that. I look up at the ceiling, and I'm pretty sure that God is smiling down at me with His caring eyes and His "I told you so" half-smirk....

To Be Continued....

Okay, so here is the question. I have two more parts to this story. But if I kept going, this blog post would
be neverending. So, the question is. When do ya'll want me to put up parts 2 and 3? I can do my customary Friday  blog post, or I can put them up consecutively.... Thoughts?

Let me know what you think :)

Butterflies and Crosses

 

I had always assumed that loneliness was something that only happened to other people. Even though I was often lonely in my early life, this was the loneliness of being surrounded by others but not finding any worth spending your time with. This is most definitely a depressing sadness, but it is not the worst isolation that one can feel. For years I thought it was. I thought that this was the only loneliness it was possible to feel, so I did what every self-congratulatory high school student does, and told myself that the worst was over.

How very wrong I was.

When I moved to Virginia I only knew one person. Thomas has been my friend for years, and we are still the very best of friends. But our relationship has had to evolve. Because now that he is in college and I am not, we are on very different levels of maturity and understanding of each other. His mind is more geared towards academics, whereas I have had to grow up more in relation to the adult and corporate worlds. If we could switch places, I think I would take the opportunity.

But this isn't even the thing that has changed the most about our relationship. The biggest difference that we now face is the fact that he interacts with people, and I don't. This is not only true of Thomas, but of all the people that I meet as a part of the Campus Fellowship at George Mason University. Most everyone in Campus is going to school at George Mason University; they meet people in their classes, in their labs, when they walk to school, as they ride their bikes on campus. They have so many opportunities to meet people from such diverse beginnings and places. There are also a few people in campus that aren't going to school (like me), but their jobs are help related jobs. One of my friends is working at Direct Development, a marketing company that interacts a lot both within and outside the immediate workings of the company. Another friend is currently looking for work, but in her travels to find a job that meets her needs she has met tons of people that are incredibly awesome and exciting.

I don't mean to go all pity party, but this has been a major part of my life since I have moved to Virginia. All the people that I see are able to interact during their entire days. They meet people, they talk to them, they have the option of seeing people their age and hanging out with people from different facets of their lives. I don't have that option. As a nanny for a two-month old baby, I don't get out of the house much. There aren't very many places that you can take a screaming infant, especially when she needs to be fed every two hours or so, and I'm not very well equipped for that particular job. Most of my days are spent sitting on the couch, either watching TV or listening to a book on tape, sometimes working on the random art projects I have begun, or writing on my blog. Sadly enough, my blog has really become my only means of communication with the outside world for the majority of my days. If you tack on transportation to my day, I've got 12 hours where I am not at home, or even doing something that involves other people.

Ever since I could walk, I've been in an academic setting. I have always been challenged academically (kind of) and always had people to talk to. Sometimes school only seemed bearable because of the people I was with, the people were the real reason that I liked going to school. Growing up in a big family meant that I never had more than an hour to myself in the 17 that I normally stayed awake for. Thus, the loneliness that comes from artificial relationships and not enough time to figure out who I was. Now that I am not in an academic setting and am not constantly meeting new and exciting people or talking to them about anything and everything, I find myself afflicted with a very different type of loneliness.

This loneliness is something so severe that I sometimes think I am depressed. Often I find myself laying around the house, too lethargic to do anything. I care so much about hanging out with people that I can't find the energy to do so. I am slowly losing the ability to communicate with people effectively, and I find that I can't carry intelligent conversations as well as I used to. I find that this longing for fellowship and friendship is not from a lack of friends, but simply from a lack of interaction with them.

This lack of communication is pinned to two things. The first being that I don't have a car, so I can't drive the six miles from my house to the houses around campus where my friends live, whenever I want. I can't go and hang out with them whenever I feel like it. I can't just pop in spontaneously, something I loved doing to my few friends in Colorado. The second contributing factor is the fact that I don't do anything during my day, so I have nothing to contribute when I enter in to conversations. This also means that I don't see anyone else during my day.

I often think that the people I see in Campus Fellowship forget that they are the only friends I have. It's easy to forget that they are the only social interaction's I've had in however long it's been since the last dinner or meeting. If that isn't a depressing thought, then I don't want to figure it out what depression actually is. Feeling like it is within my control to communicate with others and to not be able to communicate effectively is probably the most frustrating endeavor that I have ever encountered. I have found a world of difference in being near people and not wanting to converse with them and being with people and not being able to converse with them. One is based on my choice and one is based on all our collective circumstances.

There isn't much I can do about my circumstances.

I need a job, I love the family that I work for, and I couldn't find a sweeter baby than the one I'm looking after. But the mere fact of it is: I'm supposed to be in college and I'm not. All my friends are in college and I'm playing at mom. I've always wanted to be a mom, but now that I'm here, I'm realizing that that dream is better saved for a better time.

I suppose I should always look for a silver lining in every situation. Well, if one thing has grown out of this, it is my dedication to my relationship with the Lord. With so few others to talk to, He is always there. As my mother told me the other day in a conversation: "Everything about your situation is difficult. There isn't anything easy. You asked the Lord for what you could do for him, and this is what He gave you. And it's a lot harder than you thought it would be. But He wouldn't have given it to you if you couldn't handle it. You're at the foot of the cross."

(At that moment the phone connection gave out).

I never thought that being at the foot of the cross would be a blessing, or would turn up in such a mundane experience. Actually, I had never thought about what being at the foot of the cross actually meant. When I first began this job, I had no idea that my burden would be so great that I couldn't even help myself, that only Jesus can help me. As an inherently prideful and independent person, this has almost been a bigger challenge than my current physical situation. I struggle daily with remembering that I don't know what is next for me, but the Lord does. He knows my struggles, my heart, and my desires, and He will lead me out in HIS timing.

This last week has been particularly challenging because I've been so tired that all I want to do is sleep. I have found that exhaustion is a perfect excuse for me to be self-pitying and negative. There are so many more opportunities to be negative than to be positive. But I think my mom hit the nail on the head. I asked to be here. I asked the Lord for all the pain that would glorify Him. I asked for the cross, and now I'm standing here, looking at it.

And damn. It's painful. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be. I was expecting my move here to be easy. That my faith would not be challenged, that friendships would fall in to my lap, that I would never be homesick, that my life would be all rainbows and sunshine.

(If you couldn't tell from what you've just read, my experience hasn't been anything even remotely resembling rainbows).

Not that there isn't a lot to think about. I never gave much thought to the cross and what that actually meant. But in this past week, I've really thought about my own experiences and how they relate to the Lord's plans for me. I realize now that I have all this time at my disposal to really grow closer to the Lord and grow, specifically, in friendship with Him. And while I'm trying to figure out what that means, I've learned that my own experiences mean carrying my cross to the Lord and asking Him for help in carrying it. I have slowly realized that there is nothing to be ashamed about in asking for help. For lifting my hands and crying out to my dad. And even though I've got a long way to go, and a whole lifetime couldn't encompass everything that I need to learn, I can say with complete confidence:

At the foot of the cross I am never alone.

Your Son is an Electrician?

I walk with Anna (the nine year old I look after) to school almost every single day, because there simply aren't many children in the area whose parents drive to school. Most of the children in the neighborhood walk with their parents, but most of the parents don't have very young children to walk with. Most of them have children at least able to toddle around, who are able to control their own temperature, and who aren't as prone to getting sick. So some mornings when it is really cold, I have to bundle up the baby I look after, and walk to school with her older sister. Now, if the school was right around the corner (where the middle school is) I wouldn't mind it so much. Or if the backpack that I carry the baby in was easier to get in and out of by myself. But the elementary school happens to sit at the top of a ginormous hill. There are several steps of steep stairs, and then a very long winding path that lead to the school, and though the school starts later than most schools around, it is still freezing by the time her older sister and I have to walk. Most mornings nothing unusual happens. As always, there are other people who are walking their children to school, the sun rise to our right as we pant our way up the steep hill, and the rustling leaves on the millions (okay, maybe hundreds) of trees that surround the path.

Not today.

Not to say that the ordinary things weren't still happening. The sun still rose, (thank the Lord), the leaves are still on the trees, and there were still other parents walking their children to class. But the difference today, was that a humongous electricians truck was parked at the entrance to the school. The path isn't very wide, so even though the truck is the width of an average car, the entire path is blocked off. Anna and I could not make it to school.

It's a good thing that we always try to get their early. Now at least Anna understands why- she always thought I was crazy about going to school so early. Sometimes things come up that you just can't control. So, what do we do? We stand their awkwardly and wait for the truck driver to move the truck. Well, the truck driver is talking on his phone, and doesn't see us right away. After about half a minute of standing there in the freezing wind, he sees us and immediately gets off the phone. He hops the fence surrounding the path, and comes up to us.

"I need to move the truck, don't I?"

Anna and I both nod, sort of too intimidated by the truck to say much. So we just watch as he walks around to the drivers side of the truck, starts the engine, and begins pulling out.

"I'm scared that the truck is going to back in to us," says Anna, as she hides behind me, "I don't want it to squish me. Picture day is tomorrow."

So I shield her from the truck, even though their are weights keeping the truck from going any further back than it already is. And slowly, the truck pulls in to the school parking lot to let all the students that walk up the hill to pass.

After I drop Anna off at her classroom door, I have to walk back down the hill. Though the truck is gone, the man is still there, and he is leaning against the railing. He is obviously waiting for school to start, so that he can work in peace, without worrying about droves of children walking to and from school. It's very cold, but he is only wearing a thin jacket and work pants. I stop to thank him on the way down- it must have been a real setback to move the truck,but he did it anyways.

"Oh, no problem," he said, "I would have had to move it anyways." He says all of this with a Mexican accent and a slight grin. He can't be older than his mid thirties. There is something so compelling about him, that I decide to stop and chat, even though the weather app on my phone tells me that it is only 3 degrees above freezing, and I have an infant in my arms.

"Hi, my name is Rebecca." I say, holding out a mittened hand.
"J.C." he replied, "nice to meet you".

As I begin talking to this man, I see that he is not so different from me. He is working a job that pays the bills, that is not what he wants to do, but what he needs to do to support his family. Although I only have myself to take care of, he has a wife and two small children. The more I talked to him, the more I realized that he was missing the positive social interaction that comes from meaningful conversations, just as much, if not more, than I was. This man seemed so lonely for conversation, that I just had to keep talking to him.

Of course the conversation turned to the baby, and he asked me if she was mine.

"No," I responded, "I'm just the nanny. I take care of her and her older sister for most of the day, and then I go back to my house and try to act like a normal college student. I mean, believe it or not, I do have goals other than taking care of children for the rest of my life. I still want to go and be a student and learn tons of things." He studies me for a minute, and then says, "So... Are you still in high school?" Like most people that I meet during my day, he still assumes that I have not finished high school, and that this baby is mine, contrary to anything that I say.

"Well, I just graduated in May, and so now I'm taking a year or so off before college."
"Oh, which high school did you go to?"
"Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "you're going to think I'm crazy. I went to high school in Colorado. I actually just moved here about a month ago."
For a second he looks at me in astonishment, and then his curiosity gets the better of him. He asks, "Well, why did you do that? What made you move here?"

Whenever anyone asks me this question, I still feel very insecure about the answer. I feel like some people are going to write me off as just another Christian. Before I answered, I remembered a picture that I had seen on Facebook earlier this week. It is a very simple picture with a nun on the front. She is smiling at the camera in a smile reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, and there are only a few words: "Holiness is not for wimps, and the cross is not negotiable, sweetheart, it's a requirement -Mother Angelica." I could go on for days about how much this picture has inspired me to bring Christ back in to every aspect of my life, but that is for another time (If you all want me too). But at this particular time it made me think that it would be okay to tell this man why I had really moved here.

"Well, I was on a mission trip in Louisiana this summer, and I was praying, and I just asked the Lord where He was calling me, and He told me Virginia. And at first I didn't believe Him, but then everything started working out, so I followed Him."

This man did not believe me. He did not believe that I was only 18 and that I had moved across the country because I felt the Lord's presence here. He couldn't believe that I hadn't moved here with any family, and he couldn't wrap his mind around the faith it sounded like I had. (I mean, did a memo go out that only middle-aged and older people can do crazy things for their faith? Did I miss that?) The conversation soon ended with us finally introducing ourselves, and then we went our separate ways. I went back down the hill to the apartment, and he went back to work on the light that needed repairs. I was thinking about the conversation all the way home, and I couldn't stop thinking about how he was so disbelieving of me.

Even though the conversation did not end with his understanding my decision or faith, it really got me thinking about how easy-and difficult- it is to be Christ to others. It's hard not being accepted for your decisions, even if that person is the overworked electrician that you meet on the way to school. It's difficult talking about your beliefs and faith to people that aren't interested. I mean, we all want to be accepted by the world right? However, the thing I have found easy is to speak and act like Christ would have.  I didn't want to speak to the man outside on a cold day, but who am I to question the Lord? I know that He takes even the smallest things we give Him and turns them into blessings larger than we can imagine. And even though this sometimes doesn't feel like enough, and even though I didn't see any change in that man while I was there, I know that the Lord is doing some pretty awesome things with him.

I mean, who knows? Maybe he'll forget his preconceived notions about people still doing radical things for their faith. Maybe he'll remember that people still pray, still go to church, still take leaps of faith. Possibly, this will even challenge him to increase his own spiritual journey. Maybe the Lord will use this conversation as a way of reminding him who he really is: a child of God.

Attention Whores

I take a lot more selfies than I care to admit...

I don't think I'll ever learn the art of enjoying myself....

Let me back up.

I see pictures of tons of my friends on Facebook, and I see a lot of pictures that look fake. They look as though the person has spent three hours trying to dance the line between interested and disinterested. As though they don't care what people think, but if you dig a little deeper than they really do. Then there are the other people in my friends list who look like they are enjoying themselves fully. These shots don't have the best filters, the best quality, the best lighting, or the most flattering angle. These photos are most often taken at the spur of the moment, (or something close to it), and are genuine candid shots. And the difference is remarkable.

The people that don't pose for their pictures- or aren't even aware that their pictures are being taken- seem so filled with joy. There seems to be so much happiness in their movements and their faces that it can't help but spill out from them. These people don't care what others think about them, and they are content with sub-par quality photos for their Instagrams because they want to share how happy they were, not how happy their picture quality was.

Then I started thinking about pictures in general. Sure, it's good to have a family photo done once in a while, and it's good to pose for special events such as weddings, births announcements, graduation pictures, and the like. But the idea of posing for an ordinary picture, a picture that has no significant value or purpose, weirds me out. What's the point of posing for a picture while not actually looking at the camera? What is the reason behind a sepia filter vs. a black and white one? Is there any significance in making it seem like I don't care if I actually do?

Because the people who put up these pictures are more often than not looking for attention. I've heard others just brush them off as "attention-whores", and then move on to gawk at the next one. The name calling is a pretty accurate description at the base level. I mean, girls on Facebook taking selfies to get likes? What other reasons are there?

There are tons.

Why do they want attention?

In my own experiences, I've learned that everyone needs attention. When I went on a mission trip to Louisiana, I had the opportunity to help run a summer camp for children in the neighborhood. I was privileged to help with the 6-9 year old age group. Now, these children are from the roughest neighborhood around. There aren't any fathers (they've all been put away for drug use), their mothers are working full time jobs to support them, and the education system in Louisiana is the worst in the country (meaning that the children don't have any motivation to learn or participate in school at all.) But in the summer all these children come to camp. And they love it.

It wouldn't seem that they even liked it, let alone love it, if you just looked in one afternoon. You would see a few older women sitting with a very large group of younger, black, girls, and you could probably see that the older, white, women, were losing their patience. There is an obvious struggle for control over everyone's emotions and reactions. These girls have never been taught manners like we have; they have never learned to say please or thank you, they don't wash their hands, and they yell and try to break things when they are angry.

To us, this does not sound like a group of girls having a good time at summer camp. This sounds like a group of girls who can't wait to go home. Rather, this sounds like a group of girls determined to get kicked out so they can leave. But this couldn't be further from the truth. Instead, these children don't know how to ask for love and attention other than doing so through these large and grandiose actions. Through their tantrums they are noticed by the people that they love and admire. Their only way of connecting with their parents is by being so loud and obnoxious that they have to be noticed. And even though this is a very negative attention, it is attention none-the-less.

Getting back to girls on Facebook, you don't suppose that these constant selfies could be a cry for attention? Not just the artificial attention that comes from people noticing how pretty you look; but searching for the real affection and love that they are craving. Maybe, just a thought here, they are all just looking for someone to love them, but don't know what love actually is? Because we are well versed in the world we think we know what love is and where to find it. The modern media tells us know that we are very successful if: our pictures have a certain number of likes, our posts have a specific number of shares, our eyes are a certain color, our hair is a certain length, or we have lost our virginity at a specific age. This picture of success leads us to think that there is never a way to be good enough, because we should be happy with what he have, but we're still looking in the wrong places. Every time we turn to something new, what we really wanted is just visible in the corner of our eyes. Imagine that everything we want is simply a few inches away, we just don't know which direction. We paw at the air in our blindness, oblivious to the fact that our search could be ended shortly by simple direction in our actions. Suppose we are all just looking in the wrong place for this much needed interaction and direction of attention. Say that we are all looking in the wrong area of our lives for something.

I know I am.

I keep looking for love everywhere except where it actually is, right in my Father's arms. I try to fill this desire with lots of friends, books, movies, and boyfriends. I look for peace through music and socialization, when I could just turn to the Lord and experience His love and joy. Instead of praying, I indulge in apps on my phone, and instead of praising Him I choose to read gossip-filled magazines. I think that being a part of the world will make me happy, that this will fill me up. I keep searching (in vain), for the meaning to life and the secret of happiness, even though the Lord has promised all His happiness to me. I keep stumbling around in the dark, even though I know that the Lord's hand is right next to me. It's so hard to accept help, isn't it? So, isn't it possible that we are all just looking for something, and don't know where to get it?

I suppose, in some ways, we're all just like those "attention-whores" that we see on Facebook. Probably exactly like them. We just don't know where to find what we are looking for.

Going back to the other pictures I see displayed in the social media, the ones that seem more genuine and life-like than the the others. There seems to be a genuine happiness and joy that emanates from my compute screen. These people are enjoying themselves.

My hypothesis is that these people are already well on their way to what they want. They aren't stumbling around, groping blindly at the void in front of us, although at times I'm sure they feel like it. They have picked themselves up as best as they can, and taken a hold of the Lord's hand. They are still blind, but in a way, they are more able to see than the rest of us. The Lord doesn't remove our obstacles or desires, He grabs a hold of us and carries us through and around them. This doesn't meant that the obstacles aren't still there. Rather, they look a hell of a lot scarier than we ever thought they could, but we aren't going alone. These people have finally found that in total surrender and acceptance, there is true love and affection.

Exactly what we were looking for.

To Bodly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before

When I was little I always had the biggest dreams for what I wanted to do when I grew up. For years I wanted to be an astronaut. Not a normal astronaut, but a ballerina astronaut. That's right. I wanted to dance on the moon with my pink tutu on the outside of my space suit. Silly things like temperature and weight of the space suit couldn't daunt my dream.

Sometimes my dreams are just to be a good older sister... 

When I realized that I was afraid of looking down on things, and thought that maybe looking at the earth from that high up might freak me out, I decided that I wanted to be a teacher. Not a normal teacher, but an art teacher. I wanted to roll in to school every day on my roller skates and be called "Professor Triplett". That dream ended when I realized that both my father and my uncle were called "Professor".

Once my dad told me to wrap a bowl with plastic wrap, and I did it so well, that for a few months, all I wanted to do was to be a professional plastic-wrapper. (To his credit, my dad did not dissuade me).

When Harry Potter first came out, I wanted to be the next J.K. Rowling. I tried and tried to write about anything and everything that came to mind, but I was always only able to write a page or two before I grew bored. I still can't write anything longer than twenty pages, and if it's a creative story? Forget about it.

The new dream was to be on Broadway. Despite the fact that every actor's dream is to be on Broadway, and that there are droves of talented thespian, I love being big, outlandish, unrealistic, and energetic. So Broadway seems to be the natural choice. I mean, there aren't many careers that you can say you absolutely love, right? Might as well shoot for the moon.

What do all these dreams have in common?

They all have to do with impacting others and how they remember me. I think that even at a young age I wanted people to remember me. I wanted to be remembered by what I did for humanity. I wanted people to look me up in a history book and be remembered as the next Jane Goodall, or the better Picasso. And I still have that desire even today. I still have the insatiable desire to be important. To be needed. To be great.

Everyone else had tangible goals and dreams to achieve greatness. To be a doctor, to be a politician, to be a mother. None of the same desires for greatness seemed to penetrate the dreams my friends had. I seemed to be the only power hungry one of the bunch. Of course, if you had asked me, I would never have said I was power hungry. I would have just said I was ambitious, even though I didn't know quite where the ambition was directed.

Of course, at the time I couldn't see that I was power hungry. I thought that everyone suffered from the same desires. I thought that everyone didn't care what they did, just so long as people remembered them for it.

I sound like a terrible child.... Don't I?

I really did want to do good things, I really did want to be the person to end world hunger and to clothe the naked, and to free people from prison. I wanted to do good things for others. The very first dream I ever remember having was to run an orphanage. I wanted to provide these children with a better life, even though I was no more than I child myself. But where I was getting lost was the fact that I wanted to be remembered as a good person, rather than to actually be a good person.

My motivation was just a little skewed.

I realize now that wanting to do those things simply for the sake of recognition is no useful motivation to do them at all. What does it matter that other people think I am a great person if I did great things simply to be great? Am I truly good if I only did good things in order to be remembered as good? Or did I act out of love for my fellow man?

Sometimes I still wonder what I want to do. Do I want to pursue these things because I think that they will make me be remembered? Or do I want to follow these dreams because they are avenues that I love? Do I want to go and be a missionary because I will convert people to Christianity, or because I think that my brothers and sisters should hear about the love GOD has for them? Do I want to teach because I want to be remembered as a spectacular teacher, or because it is for the good of the CHILDREN? Do I want to do good things out of the goodness of the deed, or the goodness it will bring others?

Sometimes I don't think I've changed much. I still want to be great. I still struggle with the difference between being great for myself and being great for the Lord. For a while I thought that I couldn't have dreams of being great after I realized that I was too prideful for my own good. I thought that God wanted me to give up all the dreams I had of changing the world. And for a while I did. However, I wasn't able to give them up completely. Even when I said that I wouldn't want to be great in this way, I would begin thinking of different ways that I could achieve history.

It was only in totally giving my pride and ambition to the Lord that I realized I did have to give these up all the way. I couldn't just say that I was giving them up and then think about how I could be awesome. I had to hand them to God and see what He would do with them.

I very recently asked God to help me overcome my pride. I handed God all the delusions that I had had since childhood. Trembling, I held none of my desires back. And afterwards I have begun to feel a slight difference. I still want to be great. I still want to change the world. But I feel so much happier and better about it now. Because I realize that I can't do anything without Jesus and that He wants me to be great as well. He doesn't want me to give up my dreams of changing the world, rather He wants to use them for the advancement of His kingdom. I suppose I didn't realize this until very recently, but the Lord wants to change the world as well. And Jesus could come and change the world Himself if He felt so inclined, but He really wants us to join in as well.
The Lord doesn't want to take my dreams and chew them up and then spit them back at me. He wants to do things with me, and if what I am good at will bring about his kingdom, as well as bring me closer to what I love, then why wouldn't He use my dreams and desires? I mean, isn't He the one who gave them to me in the first place?

He doesn't want me to use my ambition for myself, because in the end that wouldn't make me feel happy or fulfilled. He wants me to change the world through simple acts of love and acceptance, and even though right now I feel like that isn't much, the Lord knows my desires better than I do. He isn't asking me to diminish my greatness, but He wants to be the center of it. He wants me to change the world through my love for Him, as well as my love for others. If I loved others as Christ loves them, and I treated everyone as I would want to be treated, who would ever remember me in any other way than what I originally wanted? And really, when you think about it, isn't that the only way worth being remembered as?

Bus Stop Pride

I can complain about it being early, or enjoy the sunrise :)

So, although I live in Springfield, my job is a whole two towns away. This wouldn't be that far if I could just drive there. Unfortunately I can't. I don't have a car. Although I would be able to afford the initial down payment, the insurance for a vehicle would put me under. I would go broke, and in a very expensive part of the country, that really isn't an option. So, what do I do? I take the bus every morning and every afternoon to get to and from work. Unfortunately there is no bus that goes straight from my house to my job. There is, however, a bus that goes from around the corner to the Pentagon. And then from the Pentagon there is a bus that will take me to the correct neighborhood. Unfortunately this requires some back tracking, but I suppose I can't be too picky with the public transit system.

My first bus leaves at 6:20 in the morning, and normally I am pretty good about making that bus. Granted, I wake up incredibly early every morning to make this connection, but I am never worried about making it. (Actually, I don't know what I would do if I missed that one. The next bus that leaves from that stop is at 6:45, meaning I would be almost an hour late for work). Catching this bus is entirely within my control. If I am late, then the bus will leave without me. But it is within my power to not be late. The connecting bus at the Pentagon leaves only a few short minutes after my first bus normally arrives. Whether I catch this one or not depends on the bus I have just taken. Was it on time? Did we make any extra stops? Was traffic bad? Were there more people to drop off before the Pentagon station?

So, what can I do? I can either run and try to catch the early bus, or I can watch it drive away and wait for the next bus that comes in twenty minutes. Normally the first bus arrives with just enough time for me to speed walk from one end of the station to the other, and I am just able to catch the bus before it pulls out. The reason that it matters if I take the early bus or not, is that my job technically starts at 7:00. The second bus doesn't leave the station until 7:02, so I will be late to work. Even though that still gives the woman I nanny for enough time to get to work, the morning is so much more rushed when I don't get there until 7:20.

Sometimes I see the bus leave right as my bus pulls in. These are the less stressful mornings in one sense (I don't have to run to catch the bus), but is much more stressful in others, (I get anxious when I am going to be late. Even if I am not early it stresses me out immeasurably). So I normally try to catch the first bus, but most often I need to wait for the later one.

Yesterday morning, as I sat at the bus stop, waiting for the later bus to arrive, a lady walked up to the seating area to wait for the bus that comes in between the two buses that I can take. She looked around for a moment and realized that she would have to stand because there were no more dry seats available. (Since Tropical Storm Karen came through, it's been pretty wet here). So, this older woman stood right next to me, and began waiting for the bus.

Now, I tried to ignore her as best I could, because what was I supposed to do? There were a few younger men sitting in the seats next to me, shouldn't they get up and offer her their seats? None of them moved. So, that left it up to me.

"Would you like to sit down? I'll move if you like."

The woman looked at me for a moment in complete shock. After a few seconds she told me that she would be alright, but thank you for offering. She told me that there aren't very many people like me around any more.

The conversation continued, and then ended a few moments later when she had to catch her bus. It was a lovely conversation about allergies and moving. She asked me why I moved to Virginia, and I told her that I just woke up one day and knew that the Lord was calling me there. This seemed to cheer her up. As a pastor at her own church, she had seen how many young people were not finding Jesus anymore. It was an enlightening and positive conversation to have early in the morning, and made me glad that I had run in to her. But that sentence about there not being many people who would offer a seat to someone else struck me, almost more so than her openness to the Lord, and I thought about it all day.

There aren't many people like ME around anymore? At first I felt pride at what I had done, and even though she had refused the seat, I felt that I had done her a great service. I felt myself to be better than the people around me, the ones who had neglected to offer her their own seats. I began thinking that I was such a great person that I had thought to offer her this common courtesy. I began thinking myself rather grand.

Before this woman had come up to me and needed a place to sit, I had been reading C.S. Lewis' "Mere Christianity", which I had been avidly devouring all morning. Ironically, I had just started reading the section labeled "Pride". When I was done congratulating myself on how selfless I had been, I began reading again.

"Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next man... The trouble begins when you pass from thinking, 'I have pleased him; all is well,' to thinking, 'What a fine person I must be to have done it.' The more you delight in the praise, the worse you are becoming".

The Lord is not one to be subtle, is He?

I immediately saw that I had just committed the very thing that Lewis writes about. I had gone from feeling well about pleasing someone else, to stroking my ego in less than two minutes. I had jumped from pleasure in the act, to pleasure in myself almost instantaneously. The scary part is, I hadn't even noticed.

Today, pride is a difficult topic to discuss. In elementary school I was taught that to take pride in one's actions was to be prideful. To be admiring of someone else's gifts might inspire pride in them and self-degradation in yourself. To have a gift was to smother it, for fear that one would catch you in the act of pride. I feared being prideful more often than anything else, but I didn't truly know what pride is.

On the other end of the spectrum, I later learned from observing others, that building oneself up was far superior to knocking others down. So, taking pride in things you did was far better than feeling better than another person for things you did better than they did. In my mind, pride in myself for doing something good is equivocal to the pride that comes from doing a good work for the sake of the action.

I had never realized that this was incorrect.

The popular saying of today's generation is "Chivalry is dead"; but that is not strictly true. We were just never taught what chivalry was, and in our search to defy these allegations of rude behavior, we attempt to become chivalrous and kind out of spite and in defiance of the social norm. We become more prideful than we ever intended in our seeking to be selfless. Our actions reflect our goals, but not our motives. Even though the action is good, the incentive is skewed.

Is me offering a seat to an older woman still good, even though I kindled my own pride while doing so? Is that really any better than not offering her a seat at all?

Types of Sandwiches

Not creepy sandwich at 1 in the afternoon....

Isn't weird that we are so introspective, but at the same time, looking inwards is looked upon with both admiration on derision? When I was younger I learned that it is better to look at others and see their needs before your own. But I found out later, that even if you know their needs you need to be able to look inside yourself and see how you can help them best. I think it would have been easier to teach me to look inwards first, and then teach me to look at others. So now, while everyone else is learning how to serve others and to fill their needs with the skills they possess, I am over here learning my skill sets. It's a very humbling process.

Normally people learn what they are good at and what they like to do at a very young age. When you are younger you're supposed to be self-centered, simply because no one has taught you any better. No one expected me to be caring or giving when I was younger, it was simply sweet or cute when I was. I was expected to be selfish and interpersonal, meaning that when I wasn't, no one knew how to teach it to me.

Finding oneself isn't something that can be taught from a book, or learned from a manual, (although, believe me, I have tried); rather, learning about yourself is made up of experiences. Which, unfortunately, means spending a lot of time by myself and being honest about the things that I do and don't like to do.

Until this point in my life, I had no idea that others knew who they were better than I did. That the reason I never took initiative for anything was because others knew what they wanted, and I didn't. I had always assumed that I was serving others by letting them choose what to do. This was most commonly presented to me when I would hang out with friends.

"What do you want to do?"
"Well, I don't know, what do you want to do?"

"Where do you want to go eat?"
"Anywhere is fine with me."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, if you start listing off restaurants then I'll let you know which ones I don't like...."

Those were fairly typical conversations between my close group of friends. Although in other aspects of my life I loved being in the spotlight, I couldn't bear the thought of liking something and then being judged for it. This may sound like a silly fear, but I was terrified of liking things. I thought that since everyone else KNEW what they liked, they might as well enjoy it, but since I DIDN'T know, it didn't matter. Why should I figure out what I like and don't like? Why should other people be bothered with my preferences if I didn't even bother with my preferences?

Of course, I did have preferences. And once I got home, they would all come out. The pent up non-committal attitude that had been raging inside of me would pour out, and I'm sure my parents thought that I was the most picky, particular child of the bunch. I always felt safer at home, because even if my parents did judge me, they couldn't stop loving me. If my friends thought something I did was weird, they had every right to stop being my friend.

This is probably starting to sound like typical elementary school politics, but the most shocking part about it? Wait for it....

These fears surfaced in high school.

While others had outgrown their fear of making a stand about something as simple as where they wanted to eat lunch, I had slipped into it. I had quietly donned the skin of indifference, in fear that if I took it off, I would be alone. I couldn't bear the thought of being lonely. I'm not sure I ever thought that I might be less lonely without all these people around me. But this disguise stayed on for several years, and still plagues me to this day. When others ask me what I want, I'm scared that they will laugh at it. When people ask where I want to go, I'm worried that they will judge my taste in restaurants.

These are all completely misguided fears to be sure, but they are very real in my life, even today. I still find it hard to speak up for something I like that is personal, something that could bring confrontation in to my life. I still quake at the thought of telling someone I follow a celebrity on Twitter, let alone that I follow Christ in my real life. Evangelism terrifies me, not only because Jesus is a difficult subject to discuss, but because I have difficulties discussing anything that requires my absolute view.

Maybe the reason I have this fear is so that the Lord can pull me up to even higher heights. Starting lower means that I can only go up. When left to my own devices, I know what I want. Same with evangelism. When I am left by myself, I know that Jesus is the King, and that I irrevocably believe in Him. But when you place me with others all of my views are drawn inwards, and I am terrified even to bring up what kind of sandwich I like the best.

Creepy sandwich at 1 in the morning...

Isn't that sad?

I think the Lord has placed me in all these different situations that involve my direct choice in order to make me grow, not only for my betterment, but for the betterment of everyone around me. What good is it to anyone else if I am always making them make decisions? Some people like it, but it isn't a healthy relationship if it is increasingly one sided. Even if the aspect of choosing what I want for dinner, where I want to go, what I want to do when we hang out, or my views on secret government conspiracy theories are trivial, they are all a part of me, no matter what I say. They all contribute to how I interact with others and the relationships I am going to build with them. They are all important to how others view me, and that is a normal part in growing in friendships. If no one knew anything about me, then there wouldn't be anything to be friends with. If I only lived to please other people, there wouldn't be any reason for them to want to be around me except that I make them feel good... Which is a whole different can of worms... But anyways, it is easier to serve others than to be served yourself, but it is a blessing to let others serve you. In learning to explain my opinions and come out with my views on subjects, others are better able to serve me; they now know my needs and my preferences. Just as I am able to figure out what they like and need, others are able to do the same for me.