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.

Druid's Prayer

Druid's Prayer 

http://michelemclaughlin.com/

Yet another one of my older pieces. Hopefully I'll get around to recording some of the newer pieces I've learned so that ya'll can hear what I sound like now :)

Admitting Imperfection

I really wanted to write something profound, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make anything that sounded inspiring or beautiful. No matter which words I used or which images I thought of, nothing seemed genuine. Everything seemed like I was trying too hard, grasping at straws, or just plain untruthful. And that isn't the point of this blog. I don't want to fantasize about crazy half truths that astound but don't illuminate. I don't want to use my words for something that isn't going to any good.

"Becca, your words are good, they are providing us a story."

Yes, but the best stories are the ones that are true. There are plenty of fantastical stories about mythical beings and places, but the things that make them truly amazing are the human and transparent qualities. No one gets excited about reading about fairies, elves, giants, warlocks, or witches any more. Really, it is the human qualities of these non-humans that make them interesting to read. Something about being able to relate to this characters, no matter how non-human, makes it worthwhile. We WANT to connect with these beings, but there has to be something to relate to.

If I'm always spouting off beautiful stories, then there isn't going to be anything genuine or real about them.

"Becca, beautiful things happen every day."

It's true. But there are also terrible things that happen everyday. It would be an injustice to all the happiness in the world if I simply wrote about those. And besides, nothing would ever change about the bad things if they were never addressed. Nothing makes the light shine brighter, or want to spread further, than the realization that there is a way to overcome the darkness.

See, I'm grasping at straws again. I'm trying to say something so enlightened and spectacular that I'm sounding like I'm on a soap box. Really, I'm not someone profound in any ways other than the fact that I am a human being. I don't live in perpetual happiness or enlightenment, rather I am always seeking more teachings and experiences.

I think this post got away from me...

Although I suppose this is a good realization to have. It's liberating (as well as terrifying), to know that I can put something out that isn't perfectly polished and beautiful. Because I always set out to do things with the expectation that I am able to do everything perfectly the first time around. I have this idea in my head that I don't need revision or correction, because everything that comes out of my head is perfect. And it isn't just an idea; if it isn't perfect, then it needs to become perfect. And if it isn't flawless, then there is no reason for me to be sharing it with anyone.

I've definitely been infected with the disease called "Perfection".

I suffer from this debilitating disease that causes me to think that I need to be perfect at all times. I need to always present this side of me that never trips, never says a word out of place, who always looks spectacular. I feel the need to be this beautiful woman who carries herself confidently, who is humble about all her gifts, who knows how to bake, sew, and knit, who donates all of her money to charity, and who saves the world on alternate Saturdays. I think that if I show something human about myself then others will think it isn't good enough. They'll think it's ugly.

And I can't be ugly.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was cast as Rose in the play "Dancing at Lughnasa". Rose is a middle-aged woman with a mental disability, and so she has a lot of different blocking and movement than the other characters in the play. Everything about her is more stiff, she walks on her toes, she talks to herself, she doesn't wear form flattering outfits. In one scene, where all of her other sisters are dancing this wonderful Irish folk jig, Rose is found in the center, pounding the floor in some primal manner. As a young woman, I couldn't bear the thought of being seen like this in front of my peers. I couldn't think of being anything less than the worldly ideal of a middle aged woman. Never mind the fact that several millions of people in the world are more akin to Rose than they are to the perfect ideal. But we still strive to get as far away from Rose as possible.

It took several weeks to overcome my dread of being cast as a less-than-graceful character. I loved dancing around on the stage and having a good time with the others. I didn't want to stand on stage awkwardly by myself, pounding on the floor with my heels, and having disgusting table manners at family dinners. What if people thought that I was like that in real life? Ignoring the fact that this was a production, I was terrified that people would see me portraying this character, and would see my own faults. I was worried that people wouldn't see how difficult this character was to create, but rather how I was like her, and how no one else was.

Needless to say, I am still like my sophomore self. I still shrink at the idea of being anything less than presentable at any time in my daily life. Everything I prepare must be perfect. My hair must look perfect. My speech must be perfect. I feel this pressure to be the perfect woman. Even though perfect is impossible.

So I think it's good that I can just bring forth these random soliloquy's of thought and know that there are others out there who are just like me. That suffer from this debilitating desire to be flawless. And I hope that by admitting my human qualities, that others will find the courage to admit theirs.

I cannot bake. I hate math. I trip over things when nothing is there. I walk in to the wall when I'm leaving a room. I say jokes that no one laughs at. I suffer from addiction. I gossip. I have negative thoughts. And even though I am working on all of these things, I am only human.

And we seem to think that everything human in us needs to be conquered. That everything accidental or embarrassing we do is punishable by death. But really, all the feelings of imperfection are purely human. We will never live up to the expectations that we place on ourselves. I never will. If I succeeded at everything I thought I should, there wouldn't be world hunger. Or rap music. Or political parties. But that isn't realistic of me to think that I can be the perfect person.

Why?

Because I am human.

Missing Out

My finger swipes back and forth over the smooth screen of my new smartphone. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes there are up and down motions as well. But not often. Every fifteen minutes or so there is a pause in the movement, a few frantic taps on the screen, and then a sigh of resignation accompanies the phone's shutting down. I tap my fingers against my leg. Develop a nervous twitch. Breathe heavily and turn around the room, looking for someone I know. I resolve to keep my phone off, but a minute later I convince myself that I want to know the time and turn my phone on again. It is mere seconds until this cycle starts over. 

I'm not addicted to my phone....

Not really. I could quit when I like. I don't need to play these games. I don't want to play these games. But there's something so satisfying about winning a particularly hard level, or accomplishing a difficult goal. Something so temporal and fleeting, but inducing a mental sweet tooth all the same. This sugar high leaves me wanting more, and though I know that I am just filling myself up with mental garbage that isn't going to sustain me, I don't know where else to go. 

There are so many words for addiction to make it feel less loathsome: Love, infatuation, and dedication are a few I can think of off the top of my head. There are also a few that make addiction sound quite as bad as the actual word: obsession, mania, and passion are some that come to mind. But perhaps the one that hits me in the middle of my sugar-filled-quest across a Candy land board is ENSLAVEMENT. 

Wow now. I may not be able to stop myself from playing this game, but I am not bound to it with iron, and I am definitely not a slave to my addictions...

Oh. 

Addiction: The fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity.

Addicted: Physically and mentally dependent on a particular substance, and unable to stop taking it without incurring adverse effects.

Enslavement: The action of making someone a slave; subjugation.

Slave:

• A person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them.
• A person who works very hard without proper remuneration or appreciation.
• A person who is excessively dependent upon or controlled by something.

Sadly, all of these definitions describe exactly what I experience every day in regards to the tons of apps that I put on to my phone. The one that is most embarrassing to talk about is a game that everyone plays, but no one admits to playing. Well, I'll come out and say it; I was addicted to this game for the last month or so.

Candy Crush Saga. 

There is nothing particularly exciting about this game. You swipe the candies over and up to make rows of three or more, and they disappear from the board. Sometimes your goals are to rack up certain amounts of points. Sometimes they tell you to clear the board of certain pieces. Sometimes you are racing against a clock to make a certain number of special candies. Regardless of the challenges, there is nothing about this game that is particularly exciting. 

Until they tell you that you are out of lives. 

That's where the rubber meets the road. It's one thing to mindlessly play the game until you pass all the levels. But it's quite another to be mindlessly playing, and then be forced to quit because you have to wait another half-an-hour for a life. This absence of lives makes us feel like the chances we have in this game are precious. Since they are limited, there must be something special about them. We must make them last as long as possible. We must keep coming back to beat this level, and depending on how many times you come back and fail determines how much success you feel when you finally pass the level. 

I would always feel such excitement when I passed a level that had taken me a few days. I would take pride in the fact that I had finally beaten a level that I thought was impossible. It's hard to get into a winning streak when you only have five lives, and so stumbling on one is one of the most thrilling aspects of the game. 

I didn't realize that I was addicted until I started seeing candy when I closed my eyes. All I could ever see was my phone screen; and imagine how awesome it would feel to finish the next level. But when the next level came and went, I could only think of the level after that, and how great it would be to pass all of them. There was never any substantial happiness left by accomplishing the goals in the levels. There was always this hunger for more levels and the excitement that they would bring. 

I was never satisfied. But I didn't know where to go to feel full. So, I kept going back for more, not realizing that this was just making me addicted to a mindless game that I both loved and hated. I didn’t stop playing until I tried closing my eyes for a meditation and realized that I couldn’t focus on God because all I saw were neon-colored candies floating in my vision. I couldn't focus on the Lord of all Creation because I was too into a game that I wasn't even playing at that exact time. 

I stopped for a moment to try and think about it. Normally when I am having a hard time with something in my prayer time, I think about the crucifixion, and what it would have been like to be there. Normally this helps ground me, and for me to realize the love that the Father has for us. Today, what I thought about made me feel ashamed. I realized that if Jesus died today, I would have been too busy to look up and realize that He was dying. The reason for his death would have eluded me, because I would have been too busy burying my nose in my game. I would have let my Lord die without my acknowledgement. I would have missed the greatest event in history because of my personal slavery to my phone.

I would have been blinded to Jesus dying on the cross. I wouldn’t have noticed Jesus rising from the dead. I wouldn’t have noticed the Lord that I say I follow, was right in front of me. Which made me start thinking:

What else have I missed?

Inconvenienced by God

When I first began having a consistent daily prayer time I would always pray in the morning. This was simply because that was the most convenient time, especially in the midst of a busy mission trip. So, whenever my schedule would change, I would always try to have my prayer time in the morning. And whenever I couldn't have my prayer time before 8:00 am, I would just skip it for that day, thinking that it didn't matter enough to move it. I mean, if I moved my prayer time once, then there wouldn't be a schedule, or anything consistent about it, and then it would never get done. I suppressed all thoughts about the fact that not having a prayer time once was worse than not having a daily time set aside for my prayer.

Whenever my prayer times would decrease, I would set it aside to not wanting to wake up early enough to pray. I would roll back over and sleep for another half an hour, rather than get up and pray before school. In my mind it was justified. I wasn't getting enough sleep as it was, so prayer took a back seat. I didn't think that praying was such a big deal. And even if I had, I wouldn't want prayer time at another part of the day. That would just really throw me off. Prayer was really inconvenient.

Well, now that I am in a completely different living and working situation, waking up in the mornings to pray is almost completely out of the question. I thought I was waking up early at 7:00! I am consistently waking up earlier than I ever did for school, and that is simply to catch the bus to work. Waking up an extra half hour earlier would put me at 4:30 in the morning. But I also don't want to have a prayer time in the afternoon or evening. I'm always so tired at night that I just want to go to bed, so I didn't think that evening prayer would work. That leaves the afternoons. But who wants to pray in the afternoon? That's when I get to go and act like a normal college student and hang out with others my age. I don't have much social interaction in my life, and afternoons are pretty much it. Most of my day I'm either on the bus, or stuck in the house with a 2-month-old baby. So, afternoons are right out.

Last week, I seriously began examining why I wouldn't pray at other times than in the morning. And I was struck by this thought: Do I want to pray in the mornings because I want it to happen, or because I want to get God out of the way for the rest of my day?

I had never thought about it that way before. Am I trying to pray in the mornings to simply be done with God, and go about the rest of my day? In having a morning prayer time, do I feel vindicated in not living the best life I can, because the Lord and I already had a heart-to-heart this morning? Am I putting God on the shelf? Am I putting down my bible and not taking in a word of it? Do I feel as though I've completed my Christian duty because I had a daily prayer time?

I think I know the answer to these questions.

And I realized that I am tucking God away in the pages of my prayer journal each morning, and leaving Him in my bedroom as I go about my day. The reason I am so attached to having a prayer time in the morning is not because that is the only time that it will get done; but because that is the only time that I don't feel inconvenienced by God.

Selfish much?

Why I Moved and Other Interesting Things

How I feel when I can't remember what I wanted to write about

I had this brilliant thought about a blog post today during church, and now I have completely forgotten it. I don't even remember what it had to do with. I just know that it would have been really good to write...

Hmmmm...

I don't remember.

Well, I suppose I could tell you the story of how I named my blog...

So, some of you are probably wondering why my blog address is really long and awkward. Well, there is going to need to be some background in order for this to make sense.

So, for the majority of my life I lived in the state of Colorado. We moved there from Washington when I was four, and I just recently moved out fourteen years later. I moved to Northern Virginia. Why? Well, you're going to think I'm crazy.

I have no idea.

When I was about ten, my parents joined a spiritual group that has branches all around the United States, and the goal of this organization is to live in community with each other. We want to follow Jesus and live in common with our earthly brothers and sisters. We want to serve them in every possible way and to help them in all that we are able to do. Well, the theory sound great, but sometimes the execution isn't all it's cracked up to be. Through no one's individual faults, I mean, we're only human.

When I entered high school I was able to join the teenage division of this group, and I thought that I might like it better than I had liked it before. (When my parents first joined, I hated going to meetings with every fiber of my being). But, this new avenue didn't go any better. I loathed going to the meetings, and I didn't want to fund raise to go on trips. I saw no point in the summer mission trips because I saw no point in the community as a whole. So, I didn't thrive in this new area either. I felt that I was not called to join this lifestyle, and that no matter what anyone said, I would never like it, and I would never, ever, do anything more extensive than going to the meetings twice a month.

It's funny how the Lord works sometimes.

My freshman year of high school, all of my fellow Action members (this is what the teenage division is called), decided to go on trips. Me, being the wet blanket I was, refused. I didn't want to go halfway across the country to work with people I didn't know, to build a house, and to knock on people's doors asking for things. No way, no how Lord. Not going to happen.

So, the next year, a week before the very last trip of the summer, I felt the insane desire to go. I can't describe this feeling very well. I had just returned from an opportunity at a local college summer program, and I wanted to settle in at home again, and get ready for my junior year of high school. (I still had a ton of summer reading to do). But when I got home, I had an itch. Not a physical itch, but a mental, insatiable, desire to go to Indianapolis and participate in the mission trip there. This wasn't just a passing fancy, I couldn't shake it off. I didn't particularly want to go. I dragged me heels, but there was something in me that knew I needed to go.

Well, a week later I had all my clothes packed up, my toiletries, a swimsuit, as well as the unused bible that sat in my closet. I boarded a plane for the first time all alone, and wondered what I had gotten myself in to. I had no idea that this was just the beginning.

Long story short, I loved the two week mission trip in Indy. I fell in love with those around me, and the work we were doing. I loved the fact that we had real conversations there. The topics didn't center around making others look bad, or how that person wore this the best. Rather, there were conversations concerned with politics, religion, philosophy, how to end poverty, and so on. Nothing that didn't matter was brought to the table, and I found that I could live without the incessant gossip that I had thought I was addicted to my whole life.

By the end of the trip, I never wanted to go home. I had started having daily prayer times for the first time in my life, was baptized in the Holy Spirit, and had received the gift of tongues that very night. I never wanted to leave this bubble of understanding and love, and I never wanted to leave these relationships that I had formed with the people I met. And although I could do without the humidity, I thought that I could stay there forever. I didn't know what I would do with myself when I got home. None of my friends at school were Catholics, or even Christians. Most of them didn't believe in a higher power, and they believed that anyone who did was too weak to think for themselves. That they needed a crutch to make it through life. What would all my friends say if I just burst out in a strange language halfway through class, praising the Lord? I didn't think it would go over too well.

So, when I returned home, I was not happy in the slightest. And though my desire for the Lord stuck around for about a month, after that I returned to being the negative person I was. Another year passed, and I wanted to quit Action. There had been several experiences that I wasn't happy with, and I hadn't felt like I was growing in my relationship with the Lord or with those around me, and I didn't want to waste my time on something that wasn't helping me grow. It also didn't help that there were only two other members than myself at the time, meaning there wasn't much diversity. When my other teammates went to a conference across the country, I wanted no part in it. I stuck back at home. When they returned, they were obviously on fire for the Lord, and I began regretting my decision not to go. So I made a promise to my best friend Mary that I would go to Allendale, Louisiana with her this next summer.

Before I went to Louisiana, I was sure that it was a huge mistake. I wasn't used to humidity, I had never learned how to build anything, and I didn't have the faintest idea what running a summer camp was like. I was scared, but I had agreed to go. So, Mary, Thomas (Mary's brother), and I flew to Louisiana, and I fell in love instantly. The people there were so welcoming and loving. The children at summer camp were not the most happy children to be around, but their love for us was so overwhelming that it was hard not to fall in love with them as well. I didn't even mind the humidity as much as I had the previous summer. I knew that I had found a place where I could be myself, and where I could love the Lord and the people He put around me fully.

But all good things must come to an end, and I flew home at the end of two weeks. A few weeks later, I no longer wanted to know the Lord, I had no desire to go back to Allendale, and I didn't even want to be a Christian anymore. (If I am anything, I am at least consistent with my peaks and troughs of faith). My senior year was the most challenging year of my life, not because of academics, but because of a ton of extenuating circumstances that could not have been foreseen. A few of these included: having a crazy musical director, applying for college and scholarships, quitting band after participating for seven years, trying to be involved in every extra curricular activity the school offered, and contracting bronchitis over Christmas break. With all of these factors against me, I didn't have much time for Action, and I tried to keep it that way. I wanted to quit. But I had also promised the people in Allendale that I would go back, and I couldn't bear to break a promise to them.

So, kicking and screaming, I went back to Allendale this last summer. This year I didn't have Mary and Thomas with me, both of them were spending their entire summers at different mission trip sites. So I flew to Louisiana by myself. And let me tell you, the Dallas airport is much scarier when you are navigating it by yourself then when you have others with you. So, here I was, once again, in Louisiana.

The change was instant. As soon as I walked out of the airport and saw one of my long time friends there to meet me, I knew that the Lord had put me here for a very specific reason: to love Him more fully and to learn to love those around me. And I knew that the Lord wouldn't have let me stay at home a minute longer. I was here through His grace and love, and I felt so happy that I had listened to Him. The next two weeks went by so quickly, that I feel like they almost didn't happen. But they did. I learned how to fall in love with these children, these women around me, and with the Lord, all over again. I learned what life in this spiritual group is actually like, and I realized that I might actually want it. I had never wanted any part in this group before, and now I was so in love with the life in Allendale that I couldn't imagine a life without it. When the time came to go, I was an emotional wreck. I couldn't leave! I had just started feeling at home! I had met so many spectacular people who live in Allendale, as well as other teenagers who lived across the country.

It was around the end of my trip that the Lord put a desire to move on my heart. When I first started thinking about moving I tried to laugh it off. "Yeah Lord, very funny. I am not moving when I have college lined up at home. I have plans too, you know!"

The Lord had very different plans in mind for me.

The minute I got home, I asked one of the branch members for a contact in Northern Virginia, because that's where I felt most called to go. She sent an email off that night, and I began feeling nervous about what I had started. I am a very tight gripped person, and not being in control scares the heck out of me. But I knew that the Lord must be doing this for some good reason. As I waited for a response from this man in NOVA, I told my parents my plans, put in my two weeks notice at work, and cancelled my registration at UCCS (University of Colorado at Colorado Springs). I still hadn't heard back, but I knew the Lord was doing spectacular things. Three weeks later I still hadn't heard back from my contact in Virginia, so I sent him an email myself.

And let me tell you, this was the scariest thing I had ever done. I didn't know this man, I had never met him, and here he was, going to decide my future. I was terrified that he would say I couldn't move to Virginia and be a part of the campus outreach at George Mason University. Since I had already deferred from college in Colorado, I had no idea what I was going to do if I wasn't allowed to go. I was terrified that I was going to be without a job and not going to school, a complete bum.

Later that week I received a call from him. You know how I said sending that email was the scariest thing I'd ever done? Well, this was worse. He was asking me all these questions that included, (but were not limited to): "Do you have a job? Do you know where you are going to stay? Do you know anyone? Are you sure that the Lord is calling you here?" and other questions that most people have figured out before they decide to move all the way across the country.

Well, we agreed to talk again the following week, after we had both prayed about it. I knew that the Lord was calling me there, but I continued to pray about it, and I secretly began to pack up all my belongings. I knew that I was going to move. After our second conversation (which was in the first week of September), he told me that he would love to have me move to Virginia, and that he would work on finding a family for me to live with. He told me that I should consider flying out soon, before this humongous women's retreat. (That way, I would be able to meet a lot of people all at once). So, that Wednesday I received an email from a woman I had never heard of, and she said that I would be living with her, and did I mind that she and her husband owned a dog? My mom and I then bought our plane tickets to Virginia on Monday, September 9th, and then we flew out on Friday, September 13th.

I have now been living here in Virginia for almost a month, and I am so happy that I am here.

Becca, what does any of this have to do with your blog name?

Oh yeah.... Well, when I was discerning moving, and through that whole month of waiting, I kept getting this word from the Lord to walk in faith, and to trust that He knew what He was doing. And I got this message over and over again. And the further I would go, I realized that the less I knew about walking in general. I had thought all my life that I was this strong individual who didn't need God. I didn't need some sort of crutch, and I especially didn't need Him for simple, every day things in my life. I had always thought that God was only there for when you needed prayer requests, or when you wanted to ask for someone else's healing.

But the closer I got to moving, the more I realized that I needed to be re-taught how to walk. I hadn't ever walked before, I had merely been crawling around in my ignorance and hubris. And now, I have just taken a few faltering, baby steps. And I know that the only steps I will ever take will be with the Lord.

Not to say that this isn't the most humbling and profound experience of my life, and that once this realization has happened it won't keep happening. Rather, every day I need to be (and am) reminded that I cannot do this on my own, and that the Lord is teaching me to walk with Him for the rest of my life. I think the most amazing phrases in that realization is "with Him". The Lord isn't teaching me to walk and then abandoning me. Rather, He is grabbing my hand and NEVER letting go. We are walking together.

Carrying the Baby

Everyone is always looking at my hands. When I walk to school, parents look at my bare hands. When I take a stroll through town, passersby look at my long, cold, fingers. As I walk through the store, surreptitious glances are cast at my left-hand ring finger. And they are not disappointed. There is no ring there. I am not married. No one is shocked. Not even a little surprised. Perhaps they are even a little excited. Before this year, when people looked at my hands, I didn't mind. What teenage girl doesn't want a guy to know that she's single?

When people notice the absence of a wedding ring, there is a slight shift in their eyes, and they start looking at my stomach. They notice how large I look, and how the rest of me is still so small. They notice the extra pounds that has been added to my midriff. They notice how my hands are now folded over my front, and the absence of a stone still sets them off. They can't look at my eyes.

When their eyes finally do travel to my face, there is no curiosity in them. There is no interested light that normally twinkles when you meet new people. There is only pity. And judgement. I feel my heart travel to my shoes. These people have written my story for me. A teenage mother, who couldn't possibly be older than 17; I am not married, the father probably left at the prospect of raising a family; I am most likely living with my parents. Not working, but staying at home to take care of my mistakes. I have abandoned all hopes of a normal life, dreams of college are now put on the shelf. Someone who deserves their pity and sympathy rather than their friendship and their respect. 

This is the life that I live now. The life of a teenage nanny. No one bothers to look at me and find out that the baby I carry in my backpack is not mine. That she is one of the sweetest and most loving beings I have ever met. That I took this job because sometimes the Lord has different plans than I think I should have. That because of the time that I take out of my day for this child, she won't have to spend eight hours in a day care with caretakers that don't have enough time for her. That the Lord knows other's needs better than I know them, and knows where I am most helpful and able to show my love. People just see my youth, and assume that this child was not intended. That she was an accident. 

When people are done writing my life, this has only taken a few minutes of their time. Often, it's taken less than a single minute. After this, there is no danger in silently judging me. Because the people that I talk to have not been single teenage parents, they are put above me. They are allowed to judge me. The world has shown them that someone else's mistakes are reasons for demotion, and allow them to step higher in the social ladder. Their own mistakes and choices are irrelevant. Since I am a single, young woman, carrying a baby at the grocery store, I am not worth much more than their silent pity and judgement. 

This is the image that the world teaches to us.And we have all forgotten the teachings that we knew before the world told us they were wrong. The words that are written in our hearts are not initially turned to hatred and judgement. We are not prone to feelings of inferiority until we are taught that we are inferior. We have all forgotten that Jesus himself ate with sinners and tax collectors, as well as with the wealthy and the religious. We have all forgotten that there are no sins that are unforgivable. 

Sometimes, we are brought to think that we should single-handedly carry out the judgement of the Lord. "Well, they wouldn't get in to heaven with that sort of attitude anyways." "They won't make it far with an unplanned child." "They don't deserve Jesus' love, so they don't deserve mine." We feel so negative about ourselves, that the only way to make ourselves feel better is to tear down those that probably need to be built up more than ourselves. Our own personal crusades against sin make us unaware of the fact that we are all sinners, and that we all carry our own burdens and mistakes. This renaissance blinds us to the real mission that the Lord has called us to. The mission to love all those around us, and all those we ever meet. 

Not to say that as soon as I set the baby down and take the bus home, I don't bury myself in anything that could possibly distract me from interacting with others. I am eager not to encourage any more judgement, and I would rather not be an open invitation for more. I am not perfect. But ignorance is another form of judgement. The lack of interest I show in people is not exactly what I want the Lord to see me doing if He stops His work to observe mine. Would He like it if He saw that I have all these broken people around me, and I didn't do my part to mend them? That I thought my cracks were more important than theirs, and that I should be healed first? 

I feel like the Lord would be ashamed of my pride. 

But I am not beyond forgiveness. The Lord will still love me, as long as I live, and probably further on than that. The real question is, can I forgive myself, and forgive those around me? Can I put aside my own prejudices to realize that no one deserves my judgement, just as much as I don't deserve theirs? Can I possibly lower myself to the realization that I need to ask for forgiveness for my own sins. 

Because we all carry our own babies. And none of us are beyond forgiveness. Because  the Lord loves us anyways.  

What Dreams We'll Chase

What Dreams We'll Chase- Michele McLaughlin

http://www.michelemclaughlin.com/index/

Hope ya'll enjoy listening to/reading some of the many things I play/write :)

I love playing the piano, so here's an older piece I learned :)

New Beginnings

Starting things is easy. You just pluck up enough courage to take the first step. However, it's taking the second, third, and final steps that require even more motivation and determination. Most things in my life are like that, except for perhaps writing essays. (I can never start those, but as soon as I've got the intro, the rest is a piece of cake). Everything from friendships, to meeting strangers on the bus, the starting a new job, to moving away from my family. All of these things are incredibly easy to begin, but as soon as the initial thrill wears off, I have no idea what I am doing and wish to return to where I was.

Am I the only one?

In my experiences with people, most say that challenging things get better. They become less difficult as you move forward, and that after a period of time, there isn't anything to look back at. Rather, there is only looking forward. Practically, that makes sense. Sentimentally, letting go is so much harder than anyone makes it out to be. And besides, none of the people I have talked to have not been going through quite as much change as I have.

But then again, change is subjective.

If you had asked me where I was going to be right now, I would have said in college. Probably studying for a test, or completing some busy work. Biking through a gorgeous campus in Colorado or Seattle, completely oblivious to the fact that winter is drawing closer. I might be reading a book on my front porch, or chatting happily with some friends. Maybe resisting the peer pressure to go and party, maybe not. Probably texting some, being on Facebook, and taking lots of pictures to post to Instagram. At any rate, I would not have said that I would be sitting in a living room, all the way across the country, with a screaming baby on my lap.

The Lord works in funny ways, doesn't He?

At any rate, this year is a year of change. A year of finding out what I am made of. Of finding out if I am strong enough to brave the next steps in my journey. And already I have started looking back and thinking about where I wish I was, and all the things I could have done there. Sometimes, if I wrack my brain for some imagery, I imagine that I see a parallel line of where I would be if I hadn't come here. It's quite interesting to think about, but I've also decided that it's a fruitless endeavor. Why?

Because that line will never join with the line I am on right now.

Why not?

Because that's how parallel lines work....

But really, there is no point in looking back on what I might have said or done. What might have happened in a certain situation. Which decision I would have made under different circumstances. And this blog is not for me to tell stories about what would have happened. It's here for me to write what is happening, what's going on in my unimaginably college-free life. To record what is happening in the new current that my life is taking. Looking at this alternate version of myself and thinking what might have been is akin to sitting down and doing nothing with where I am now. So, what am I going to do?

Who knows?

All I've got so far is to take another step.