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.