reality is: the flailing and the failing

I wish you had the mental image of how I'm writing this, to help you prepare for my frame of mind.
Let me try: I'm on the couch, just home from school, changed into a tank top and shorts. I've got my pint of Strawberry Blue Bell beside me, a big ol' water bottle on the table in front of me, and Judge Judy on in the background (cause my momma raised me right). Today is Tuesday- not the best day of the week, but not the worst. I think today is election day for city council/alderman positions but my polling center wasn't open, and I have not the energy to figure it out, so I'm just not going to vote.

I don't know much why all of this matters, I just feel heavy from it.
Today was the monthly meeting for the elementary music teachers in my district. My Tuesday was really pretty good up until that point. I always struggle with those meetings (they tend to start late, end late, and have not quite enough content to make it feel worthwhile), and today was worse than usual. On top of my usual annoyance with the meeting, a lot of the teachers today announced they would not be returning next year, as they are moving on to bigger and better things.

One is getting married and moving to Tennessee. One is moving to the beach. One is changing subjects and going to a new school. One is going to the school I student-taught at, and that's the one that made me most envious.

Two weeks ago, I signed and turned in my renewed contract for the 2017-18 school year with my same school and district. A few hours later, a teacher-friend of mine let me know her wonderful school had a music opening. Two days later, I learned of THREE other music positions opening at swanky schools in our area. Immediately, I lapsed into the "Ugh, God, Why didn't I wait three more days to turn in my contract?"

I am envious and struggling to accept my 'fate' for the upcoming school year. I am worn down and burned out and want to move on to a "nice" school. I am having a lot of trouble finding the light, remembering the truth, and accepting any kind of victory right now. I feel like a mess, like I'm not doing enough/any good. I feel like am not a good enough teacher to have a job at a "nice" school anyway. I feel like I may never be capable enough to put on big programs that people love, to have students who understand and love music the way I do, to earn my National Board Certification (which is my ultimate goal), or any of the achievements on the way there.
All of these feelings are centered on me alone, and I hate that.

I know they say your first five years teaching are the hardest. I so get that. I doubt myself every day and cry more than I smile, I think. This is, I would say, the least happy I have ever been in my life. Not that the other components of my life aren't wonderful; not that I don't love my students or family or friends or Casey, or find joy in unexpected places. I do, and those parts of my life are what is keeping me afloat. It's just that most days I dread going to school, and I really want that to not be the case.

Has anyone else out there been here? Any other teachers that can be a commiserating soul? Today I'm up to my ears in the struggles of teaching, and I'm flailing a little bit. I could stand an outstretched hand. I don't like this phase of life very much. Not in an ungrateful sort of way, but mostly in an uncomfortable sort of way. I suppose the flailing always is uncomfortable. There's a lot of weakness-revealing, and as always a lot of tears. Sometimes, I think the tears are caused by something else, but most of the time once I start talking about my spaghetti-tangled emotions, at the bottom I find something related to teaching. It could be my own fears and inadequacies with teaching, or something that happened that day, or overwhelmedness with impending programs and deadlines, or empathy for a bad situation.

Lately, I've found myself wondering if this is really my cup of tea. If I really want to spend my days laboring and pushing and pulling and prodding for fruit that I may never see. If I really am good enough at working with these babies to get them where they need to be. If I really am a talented enough musician to put together cohesive programs that make sense and entertain and simultaneously MEAN something. If the "love" part of "tough love" is obvious enough for these students to know that someone out there genuinely cares for their well-being and success. If I can really stand to do this for the next 30+ years; if I really have that kind of energy.

I already feel so old and lethargic.
I already dread the Mondays so much.

When I was in college, everything related to teaching seemed so glittering and exciting. It was that fairy-tale view of teaching that college has to puff you full of so that you can survive your first year. "wow, I am going to mean so much to these kids, we will love and respect each other so much. it will be 'hard' some days and I will be 'tired' sometimes but I would stay up all night and give everything away for my students to get what they need. I am going to be the best teacher because I am confident and flexible and I work hard and everyone will love me" and on and on it goes.

I don't want to sound like the jaded I've-been-teaching-for-three-years-and-I-don't-love-it-anymore teacher, but that is kinda reality.
Reality (at least for me, at this school, with these students, at this point in my life) is
"That kid would not speak last year, but now he does a little bit."

Reality is "His dad got taken to jail last night, and he watched it happen, and I know these crocodile tears of his are not over his work, and I don't know what to say or do."

Reality is "I think I have called this mother every week this semester to tell her that her child is rude and disrespectful and she doesn't seem to care to help me work on that."

Reality is "Last year I spent $500 of my own money on things for my students, and that's just the stuff I saved receipts for."

Reality is "Post-tax, my income is below the poverty level and I am a single with no dependents; how in tarnation am I supposed to be able to support anyone with this money?"

Reality is watching pro sports on TV and realizing that the players make more in one game than I will make in my entire life.

Reality is writing a kid up, and making them hate you because they don't comprehend that you did it because you care about them.

Reality is this student literally begging to leave my classroom because, what I have come to firmly believe, the presence of the Lord is too strong and spiritual warfare is so so so real.

Reality is a fourth grader finally being honest with me and saying, "Miss Stovall, I hate coming to your class because everyone tries to act up and it makes you mean." and having to genuinely apologize to this undeserving child for taking my frustration out on him week after week.

Reality is humiliating moments like that over and over again, all day most days, on repeat.
Yes, I am oversensitive.
But I firmly believe teaching will knock you down about 24 levels and send you home in tears most days, in reality.

I have to remind myself that people are worth more to me than anything else. These students are worth more to me than my income, my circadian rhythm, my pride, my dreams of travel and/or teaching at a "nice" school that has PTA breakfasts and iPads and big fancy programs with backdrops.

I have to force myself to look at their eyes, to really look at them, and swear to myself that I will give them every last bit of me that I can. That if somewhere along the way they fall off and don't succeed and don't become the very best person they can be, it won't be for my lack of trying.
I have to remind myself that encouragement is more powerful than chastisement.
I have to remind myself that flailing and failing are okay, and good, and necessary, and they make me more pliable in His hands.

And I have to remind myself that no matter how much I want to, I cannot be all the things. I am not God and I am not anyone's hero.

I am one person who cares a little bit too much, and that is all. Hopefully, someday, or somewhere along the way, that will be enough for a student or two.
Hopefully, I will not leave the profession to become a travel agent, or gymnastics coach, or personal shopper for a rich lady. (those are my top three alternative professions, if you're wondering... hairdresser is a close fourth.)

At the end of it all, I just hope that this will matter someday. Today, it feels as if it matters very little and my work will not stick around past May. Maybe that's asking too much, for my work to matter to someone, or more than one someone, but it's what I want. I want the flailing to yield fruit. I want the failing to bring fortitude.

I want to sow seeds that bear fruit that matters and lasts and sustains someone. I want to reap them too, but if I don't get that far, I'll think be okay.

outgrown shoes

this season of life is a really weird one for me. I don't like things that don't feel like they're cut to suit me, and this period of time definitely doesn't. Casey eloquently put it as "outgrowing our shoes", which I feel like perfectly sums up so many of the things I am uneasy about these days.

I'll be honest, it's really weird for me to be open about being in love. it feels weird even admitting that so publicly and bluntly. makes me uneasy. I want to shout about it everywhere, I want everyone to know how amazing this is (insert Buddy the Elf "I'M IN LOVE I'M IN LOVE AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT" gif here). But I also feel like it is something that should be held sacred and soft between just us two. There's a weird balance there that I have yet to strike. I'm not sure how or where to find it. I'm not sure if anyone has ever found it before-- now that I think about it, every relationship I know seems either too public or too silent, there is no in-between.

I feel like I should be able to sit down and calmly talk about this without giggling and avoiding eye contact because I know I'm blushing so hard and WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I SHOULDN'T ADMIT HOW MUCH I CARE ABOUT HIM AND HOW LOVELY THIS IS? I find myself, even now, almost three years into this wonderfully imperfect relationship, sometimes avoiding his loving gaze when in the presence of others cause I don't want to have some magical gushy moment that might make them realize that we're kind of madly in love. I find myself being uncomfortable using the term 'madly in love' even though that's simply it.

How can you not be madly in love with a man who spends new years eve building legos with you?

I'm not old enough for this, but I'm also finally old enough for this.
We're outgrowing the shoes of 'boyfriend/girlfriend' and 'just a relationship' (we might have outgrown the 'just' a long way back), but it isn't time for the new shoes yet. so... we just uncomfortably waddle in the outgrown shoes and make the best of it and giggle at the waddling and talk in funny voices.

A long time ago, I told him,

"I am the book you tried to write at 3 AM.

Then everything I am came pouring forth and you realized you were unprepared, you had not the capacity for me. You set me aside so you could go buy reams of paper, and boxes of pens, and a big, comfy chair, and pounds of coffee beans, and brightly colored mugs, and all the supplies one forgets about with the small writings that go on, but they suddenly remember when The Novel sneaks up on them. You left to prepare yourself for me, and me for you. You left so that there would be no doubt that when you returned, you would be more than ready to sit in a chair and leisurely pen my lines for the rest of your life."
And I think this outgrown-shoes phase is the next part, like writer's block. The book will happen eventually, but right now is not the time for it to come flowing forth.

I wish everyone who ever fell in love got to experience it the way I'm experiencing it, outgrown shoes included. I understand not everyone gets it this way- though I don't understand why- but I just wish we all did.

Falling in love with someone who loves me so weightily and stickily brushes away any and all fear. I suppose because it is a Christ-centered, pure love- and therefore, perfect love- it drives out fear. I'm not afraid of what he might say or do or become or think. I'm not afraid of being too much for him. I'm even not afraid of my own dark parts anymore.

Without my knowing when or how, he fell quickly and fiercely in love with the parts of me I have struggled hardest to accept or change.

And that doesn't mean he just accepted them. That means he sat down, and pointed them out to me, and held them up to my face and said, "I see this part of you. It isn't something I don't notice because you try not to bring it up. I see it and I already love it. I see how it has changed you and grown you and shaped you and refined you. I cherish how it has made that part of you softer and more sensitive and more guarded. It makes me want to put a balm on it and guard it with you. It makes me want to teach you how to love it since you haven't learned how to yet."

From my overactive thoughts to my thunder thighs, to my inability to talk normally about ways people hurt me, to my tiny "lucky" tooth, to how mad I get in traffic. From acne scars to stretch marks to cellulite to yellow teeth to weird toes to suspicious mind to mean self-talk to gossiping nature to lazy heart.

He says, "Babe, I've noticed you don't really know how to talk about your deepest hurts, and you are beginning to realize you've never realized how huge they are. I just want you to know you can talk to me about it anytime. You don't have to have it figured out. I want to hear your heart."

He says, "I love your lucky tooth and if you ever do anything to change it at all I will never forgive you, because that funny tooth is one of the first things that drew me to you and I adore it."

He says, "You overthink a lot, sweetie, and it takes up too much of your mental power. Give yourself a break and just pray for people instead of overanalyzing situations, your heart will feel so much better. Here, hold my hand and I'll help you."

He says, "Sweetheart, I love and appreciate every piece of you, no matter how messy or frumpy you feel. I know you don't like your thighs or rolls, and you sometimes think the stretch marks and cellulite are ugly, but I think they are womanly and strong and beautiful, and they show that you have lived. Let yourself see that as beauty."

He says, "I know it's a fight for you to keep from gossiping about people but I treasure the fact that you fight it daily and seek to speak truth and life instead. Your mouth speaks beautiful things."

He says, "I hope you know you are the fiercest, most delicate creature I know. And that is the best combination I can imagine and you perfectly embody it."

And girls don't always get to fall in love with that. Girls fall in love with "I wish you would lose weight", "shut up", and "you're kinda pretty in your own way" every day. They don't fall in love with men who know what it means for a woman to be fierce and delicate. They don't fall in love with men whose eyes are so perceptive to things both concrete and abstract, and whose eyes are so faithful to a covenant of purity even before marriage.

They don't fall in love with men whose compliments are "you refresh me", "your mind amazes me", and "I love just looking at your eyes."

They fall in love with "you're hot", "come over baby", and much more vulgar things than I dare type.

Girls don't always get to fall in love the way I'm getting to fall in love. I wish we all did. And I don't know why we don't all have that (I guess that's not for me to figure out), but I'm here to show you that it's possible to.

It may not sound fun to walk with outgrown shoes, but the feet walking beside me are faithful and gracious and loving, far more than I could ever ask for or deserve. If you're looking for a nudge or a sign to trust, to wait, to stay, to love someone you could only deserve through the grace of God, then this is it. Trust Him.

"Take a break from all the plans that you have made,

And sit at home alone and wait for God to whisper.

Beg Him please to open up His mouth and speak

And pray for real upon your knees until they blister.

Shine the light on every corner of your life,

Until the pride and lust and lies are in the open.

Then read the Word and put to test the things you've heard

Until your heart and soul are stirred and rocked and broken"

(-clear the stage, jimmy needham)

this season of life is really weird, and I don't love feeling uncomfortable with most things most days, but the one constant is the goodness of God. I think we all outgrow our shoes in different ways throughout life; I am sure I'm not the first of His children to have felt like they had outgrown something, who yearned for the future instead of living in the present. I am certain He took care of them, in His time, and in His way, just as He has for me and for Casey- from the first day until now. I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! I know that I have already seen as much of it as I can handle. I am so grateful for the life and experiences He has given me, including the now-moments I get with Casey, and that is enough. 

the trauma of post-grad life

No one tells you that post-grad life is its own trauma. No one tells you that you'll spend nights wondering if the world would be better without you. No one warns about how hard you will be on yourself, the horrific things you will do when you feel bad- for some people, the terrible decisions you will make and awful ways you will treat others when you feel out of control. For me, the excruciating self-talk I engage in (I am meaner to myself than I would EVER be to another human) when I disappoint myself. No one even hints that post-grad life could traumatize you.

People say, "You did well in school, you'll be great," and you feel like a whiny baby when you realize you are not, in fact, great at this. You think you are probably doing the worst job anyone has ever done at this. You feel like you will never have spent enough time doing this to be at the top of your field. And to top it off, your friends don't talk to you anymore. Everyone gets busy, people move, people get married and have babies, and have weird work hours, and stay in school for a higher degree. They make new friends in their new circles, and you feel so replaceable. You feel out of touch. You feel like a bad friend, and like you're not worth keeping in touch with.

Older people rag on us millennials for being entitled and perfectionist. They write articles about how dumb it is that we are displeased with our lives if we don't daily find gratification in our jobs and studies and relationships. And please hear me out here- I see their point.
There is a very valuable trait that many young people my age (and younger) do not have: perseverance. I know the importance of continuing to push forward, even when I am displeased with myself or my job or my relationships with others. I know life won't always be rainbows and butterflies. Surely, plenty of young adults take their perfectionism too far and genuinely are socially hindered because of their entitlement issues. I get that.
But I also think the vast majority of us just want what we've been told we can have: something better than our parents had. If you're like me, you were raised hearing about the trials your parents and grandparents faced. You were probably told, "I work this hard because I want you to have it better than I did." We've been hyped up and encouraged and taught plenty of valuable life lessons and are, upon college graduation, dropped into the world with- best case scenario- a toolbox full of things we aren't entirely sure how to use.

For the first time in our two decades, we are not in school 8+ hours a day, 5 days a week. We suddenly have time to spend thinking about things. Things that aren't papers and reports and projects. All forms of media are telling us all kinds of different statements about ourselves and the people we see and hear about every day. Comparison is a natural thought process. We start worrying about things we had never even thought about before. We realize our world is in an awful state, and it's petrifying. We look around and feel like we had been calmly floating by the sand... but suddenly realize we have drifted so far into the dark beyond that we can no longer see the shore.
The shock of suddenly being alone on a float in the ocean is crippling. There is so much unknown. There are no others around; no one to call on should something happen, no island to paddle to if a danger arises. It's enough to send you into emotional shock.

One of my Psychology professors in college had a theory that every mental disorder was a product of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The more I consider that possibility, the more likely it seems. And when you look at it like that, I think it's impossible to escape 18 years of schooling, 22 years of LIFE, without even a little bit of PTSD. No matter how hard you try, no matter how good a childhood you had. Trauma accumulates, and maybe you don't even realize it until you graduate and have time to think about it.

The 20's are their own time of trauma that no one prepares you for. I wish I had someone in my life who had known to bring a box of tissues to graduation and say, "You'll need these more in two years than you do right now. It goes downhill for a little while here. You might hate it. It might make you stronger or it might make you crazy, who knows."

Some days I think it made me crazy.
I look at myself and wonder how I am such an emotional roller coaster, how I think such odd things, how I can be so dissatisfied with such a good life. I don't know how I am sometimes so lonely. Right now, I am in my 'normal' frame of mind- content, only slightly stressed, overall pleased at the general direction of my life.
But some nights when I lie down, I feel quite alone. I see people, and we have a good time and laugh and do fun and silly things. Then when I curl back up under my sheets, everything feels so heavy. I want someone breathing beside me. I want someone to hold my hand, or even just lay beside me and say, "it's not as bad as it seems."

Maybe all of this is just me. Maybe it's the combination of my artistic heart, my highly sensitive personality, my college experience, my current friendship and relationship status... the sum total of my life so far.
I really hope it isn't.
I hope I am not the only 23-year-old who sometimes listens to her own thoughts and realizes that she has moments she turns back into a 7-year-old. I hope I am not alone in feeling slightly traumatized from my realizations about life these past two years.

I do know one thing- if anyone else out there agrees with any of the above things, then you & I are together in this.
We are not crazy; we are growing.
I'm not always good at believing that, but today I'm trying to be. Today, I'm just reminding myself that my job is to 'keep my eyes on my own paper,' as I so often tell my students. I read this in an article today that greatly helped my mindset about this post-grad life.
It's difficult for me- more so on some days than on others- but that doesn't mean it is my job to judge my work and my progress in it. My job is just to keep going. To try. To show up at work every day and care, and teach, and maybe get a little bit better at it every day.

In this life that some days feels more like a tragedy than a beautiful thing, it is my job to put my thoughts out there when I feel alone- because surely I am not the only one.
It is my job to type out words that convey my thoughts and feelings and experiences- because certainly there is some other traumatized heart out there who can find hope here.

sept. 15, 2016

Earlier this week, on the ride back to Clinton from the funeral, Casey was talking to me about some things filling his thoughts lately. Shawreth, senior projects, the regular stuff; he mentioned encouraging people to call a loved one. He was really just sharing his rambles with me (which I adore) and didn't realize it impacted me, I'm sure. But I started thinking, ...gosh. I haven't called someone, just to talk, in ages (besides my parents cause they are basically my therapists).
And just after that God slipped my dear old friend Dee in alongside me. So I called her.
Big, wonderful God-things are filling her heart and life, and it was the most refreshing thing to just honestly share our realities for a few minutes. At the end of the call, she asked me about a certain way God has stretched me lately, about the uncomfortability of it. I don't think I had even processed it until that moment that I was asked to summarize with cohesive thoughts.
It was one of those moments that I didn't fully realize what I was saying was a truth in my life, until I started saying it.

Uncomfortable has been the "thing" lately. Teaching makes me uncomfortable. Loving students and strangers and family and old friends and Casey makes me uncomfortable. Sharing my heart and being utterly vulnerable, and expecting no response, makes me uncomfortable.
I really don't know the point of this yet. I just see it's been a theme this past month or so. There have been so many things and situations and convictions that have made me uncomfortable, in the good and holy way, that I have had to choose to do or accept. I suppose I didn't HAVE to, but His Spirit working in me chose them.
Every time, I dawdled. I would rather be comfortable.
I thought of excuses. I thought of possible alternatives. I thought of all the awful things that might happen if I chose the uncomfortable thing (spoiler: none of them happened).
But, because of God's grace and breath in me, I was able to wrestle my flesh and pin it down for long enough to say "OK GO, GOD!"
Holding my breath while the needle plunged in.
Every time, a shot of antidote.
Anti-Becca. Anti-sin. Anti-pride. Anti-fear.
The Virus of Me weakens a bit each time.

Funny that when these seasons ebb away, I always think I'm done. I always forget that there are more corners of me to be swept out, more sickness to bleach away, more virus to eradicate.
More Him to replace me.

I've been chatting with one of my best friends from high school about a similar lesson she's learning. She said something that stuck to me and I want you to hear it too:

"I am so thankful that God relentlessly pursues us and will not allow us to stay in patterns that keep us from seeing His face."

My comfort bubble has been keeping me from seeing His face. This pattern of only doing things that feel nice and known and familiar is only keeping me stagnant and sick. It's only letting the infection grow.

So, I'm bringing a little more rigor and love into my classroom. I'm exercising. I'm making lists of people whose voices I want to hear and faces I want to see, and I'm making plans to do something besides sit at home after a long day of school. I'm making myself turn off Netflix and stop falling asleep watching Parks and Rec. I'm trying to make my prayers more conscious and not subconscious. I'm eating food that isn't processed.
These things are all slow, humiliatingly slow, processes for me. But they are baby steps. They make me uncomfortable,  but they make my heart and mind and soul and body healthier.

A couple weeks ago I ran into my favorite college professor at church. He asked me what I was doing to rid myself of the "stress" and "free radicals" and "toxins". Hesitatingly, I said, "well.....nothing."

So here is the start.
The something after the nothing.
The first bout of shots for this virus.
The first real attempt at identifying and eliminating the toxic things that attach themselves to me every day- literally and metaphorically.
It will be slow, but it will be consistent.
It will be small, but it will keep going.
It will be uncomfortable, but it will make me healthy.

What about you? Can anybody out there raise your hand and say, "me too," or "I've been there!"? Are there patterns in your life keeping you from seeing His face?
Show me your sickness. Get it out so you can heal. Come with me to get the Antidote.

On the first day of school

If the first day of school is any indication how the year will go, this year will be even tougher than year one.
My day started so well- I got to watch the sunrise (and, of course, cry. You would think I would eventually get over it and stop crying at the sunrise but y'all it is my weakness #beccacriesatthesunriseagain), I got to see all my sweet babies again, I got to have my coffee and a good breakfast, and I had an awesome lunch packed. And even while I was at school it wasn't awful. It was during the drive home that it all hit me.
The behavior problems are still behavior problems, they didn't grow up and magically mature over the summer (or move away) like I had hoped. The huge gaps we have in front of us make leaping seem impossible. The whole state is talking about MY school system, MY babies, MY community in the worst way (if you are curious about that, just google JPS audit 2015/16 and I'm sure it will come up).
I found myself wondering if a drastic change is even possible, and then I remembered my morning.

"Your love is all-consuming. YOU NEVER STOP PURSUING. Nothing I can face could take it away, oh Your love!
Your love is like no other, nothing else satisfies! It flows through the deepest waters, it rests on the mountains high. Your love is overwhelming, brought me to life again! Your love, it will last forever, in You there will be no end!"

Why do we accept the darkness of this world as fact? Why do I assume that my kids are stuck the way they are, and drastic positive changes are impossible? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of feeling like our margin of growth is doomed to be tiny. I'm sick of hearing people talk about Jackson Public Schools as if it is the bane of Mississippi education's existence.
We have our problems, we have our weaknesses, we have plenty of room for growth. As humans, as a school, as a district, as a state, as a nation.
But why do we just accept that and live with it weighing us down? Why don't we try to grow?
Sure, it hurts like hell. I couldn't talk to anyone for my first hour home from school cause my heart hurt so much. I ugly-cried and hyperventilated for another 30 minutes after that. It's not fun.
But I'm tired of accepting the "now" as "forever", personally and for my students.
His love is big enough to change me, to change us, to change history. If His love is big enough to RESURRECT, literally, then why do we live as though that power doesn't exist? If His love is big enough to RESURRECT, then it can change my heart, and trickle down to my students' hearts. It can change mindsets and lives.
It may take a lot of tears- I'm ready to give that.
It may take a lot of time- I'm less ready to give that, but will do whatever is necessary.
It may take a lot of effort- more than I, selfishly, am prepared to give.

It will take more of me than I would like for it to. But that's teaching. That's love. That's LIFE.

I'm so tired of seeing these happy teacher posts. I'm not often a happy teacher.
If you ask my how my school or job is, I will tell you honestly and enthusiastically- I LOVE MY JOB. every day is a challenge, some days I just go home and cry, but I love it.
Loving it doesn't mean I'm always happy about it or a cheerful giver of time and effort and love. But I'm sure as heck gonna try. I'm not going to give up or walk out because it's "tough". There's too much of that in the world already.

Let's keep trying. Let's be persevering. Let's stop using our tongues to tear one another down, and use them to build each other up. Let's be willing to accept change and try things a new way. Let's not mark anyone off the list of CAPABLE or WORTHY or LOVELY. Let's just give a bit more of ourselves and see what becomes of it. Just grab a little bit of hope and start walking into the day clinging to Him.

“The Lord takes pleasure in those who reverently and worshipfully fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy and loving-kindness.” Psalm‬ ‭147:11‬ ‭AMP‬‬

Yeah, if today is any indication for how the year will go, it will tear my heart out even more than last year did. It will require more of me; it will be tougher than last year, but it will also be more rewarding than last year. I am determined to find and cultivate growth everywhere I can this school year.
It's gonna be a long ride through the darkness, but I bet the sunrise at the end will be spectacular.

inspired by a new picture in an old frame

hello, virtual readers. it's been a pretty minute since I slipped some words into this space, but it felt like the right time. it's funny how for a season, a couple years ago, I felt like I had nothing but words. They poured out of my fingertips onto the keyboard- into emails and blips of google docs- and slipped from my pen in journal entries and letters and little jots here and there. They pulled me along as they flew out of me, I think.

and now they don't, not so much at least. not as easily. they drift around me a lot. maybe I just keep them to myself more now. maybe I finally learned how to store things up and ponder them in my heart. maybe it's good, maybe it's not.

so here I am, with some words. whether they are important or not is not up to me to say, but I'm glad you've kept reading this far. stay a little more, please.


I just did a tiny thing that felt really monumental, and I'm quite emotional about it.
I changed out a picture in a frame. I put the frame in a place I look every morning. (then cried.)

to explain why this is monumental, I have to backtrack a good bit, so please bear with me.

summer of 2014. specifically, the beginning of august. I had been dating Casey Key for nearly four blissful months.

(somehow a lot of things come back to this. I want to go ahead and clarify that this is not because of Casey. I love that man dearly, and I love our story, but not because of him or me or us. things don't revolve around that because of us. 

things revolve around it because it's a turning point on my heart's journey to the Lord. 

Casey is a huge part of my life because Jesus is a huge part of Casey, and of my relationship with him.)

so after four months, I thought we were kinda serious- at least I was serious about it. in all honesty, I knew six days into dating him that he was the only person I ever wanted to date or kiss or love.
for him, figuring it out wasn't that fast. I'm glad it wasn't.
anyway, I fly with his mom to Houston to pick him up from working at PineCove for 6 weeks. this was during the season I had a lot of words, therefore I had written him 42 letters, one for every day. I had also mailed him a lock of my hair, but that's beside the point.
during this time in Houston, I met his mom's birth mother (this is important and you'll see why in a minute). we picked Casey up from camp; I was smitten, he was less than thrilled to see me. we drove back to his house, talking about his family and hearing stories of his parents dating and all that fun stuff. so many times on that trip, I thought, "I just want to be part of this family."

we get back, talk a bit, and all part ways to get some sleep. the next morning we all go to his parents' church together. once there, Casey doesn't talk to me, doesn't get very close to me, doesn't hold my hand or lay his arm across the back of the pew. we get Cane's for lunch and take it home. we eat with minimal talking. Casey seems very off, and i'm internally freaking out. I ask him if I should just go ahead and drive home, he says "yeah I think that would be good."

the alarms in my heart start blaring.
I knew. this was it.
he walks me to my car, muttering about dragonflies. he opens my door, I get in, he gives me a peck that I don't reciprocate.
I immediately regret it and give him a decent peck back. I close the door and drive away and cry most of the way home.
I try not to act like anything is wrong. I tell myself "he was just tired". I don't let myself cry at first.
a few days later I ask him if everything is okay with us; he won't answer me.
"can we just wait and talk about it in person when I get back in town sunday?"
I write a sad song, I say "fine."

I wait and wait and wait. the slowest week of my life.
I call my mom on sunday and cry for hours. I knew it was coming. I tried to tell myself, "we're not about to break up." I tried to suck up my tears and be happy and go to dinner with friends.
He texts me, "can I come over?" at 9 PM.
He comes over.
He's wearing yellow.
He gives me a sad smile and it takes so much of me to keep from crying.
Liv leaves us alone to talk downstairs.

He says a lot of things I don't remember.
I force myself to look him in the eyes the whole time.
I force myself to not say anything, not guessingly finish any of his thoughts, let him say what he means.
I don't cry.
he talks a lot and I remember none of it, just the look on his face. just seeing my refrigerator behind him. just shaky insides.
he ends with saying he guesses this means we are breaking up for good.
I ask a few questions, I still don't let myself cry, I sit and stare a bit. I try to breathe the thick, awkward air between us, but it hurts my chest.
he asks if he can pray for me.

he holds my hands. I want to pull them away but he holds them.
he utters a sentence and my shaky insides burst. I cry big alligator tears, bigger than I had cried in many years.
my tears fall on the backs of his hands, I remember that part so vividly.
when the first one drops he pauses his prayer and says "don't cry, please" so shakily, but I can't stop. he keeps praying. I think he cried some on the inside.

"Amen." we look at each other. I'm crying. he wells up. I sniffle my tears in a little. we stand up, awkward goodbye, i don't even want to hug him but I do.
he leaves me with a note on yellow paper, "don't read it until I leave."

he walks out. I walk to the kitchen table and sit. I open the letter.
it feels like I disintegrated in that moment.
heaving sobs and trying to read through my tears and wanting to hate him but having no reason to.
"it seems that our relationship may be coming to a halt..."
"I can't give you what you need right now as a boyfriend..."
"Please keep loving like you do. seriously, scare people by how evident your love is for them."

I call my mom and tell her. I'm surprised she could make out any words through the sobs. I walk upstairs and fall on liv's bed and tell her and cry and cry.
I cry myself to sleep. I wake myself up crying. I cry in the shower, I try to stop, I tell myself "you can cry now, but when you start blow drying your hair, you have to stop." I blow dry my hair. I cry some more.
I text close heart-friends and tell them, and I cry at their responses. So much love, and support, and loyalty.

For three days, I managed not to cry in public, but I would walk in my front door and sit on the piece of my couch he sat on, and cry and stare at the wall. for hours.
I would run to the bathroom at the school I was student teaching at, just so I could let a few tears slip out when they needed to.
I cried every day for months. I hated seeing him.
I wanted to hate him, I wanted to be mad, but I just kept loving him, and that was worse.
I vowed to myself that I would love people so much that it scared them, and I reminded myself of that every morning.
I started writing.
I wrote 30 pages of what will hopefully someday become a book.
I would always start out being sad, and it would turn into me realizing how much I loved him. how willing I was to be stabbed in the heart by God's will for our relationship.


That was the first time I had ever died to my self. You hear in church about "dying to self," and "denying self," and that kind of stuff. it was all just jargon before that. I thought I knew what it meant, but I didn't.
I finally, then, learned what it was. it wouldn't have happened if Casey had not been listening to God's heartbeat. I hate that part of the story. I hate that it had to happen, but I'm so thankful for what that season did to each of our hearts separately.

we were 'apart' for six months, but we stayed best friends. after the first week of silence, we texted daily. we met every couple of weeks for coffee and life-chats that still lasted a minimum of three hours. we still talked about the hard things, the deep things, the us things. we chose the hard and holy choices. we stayed close.

in a moment that was nothing short of miraculous, after six months apart, Casey told me he still cared about me. I shared my feelings too. We realized we didn't want to date other people. We talked and prayed about it for a couple weeks, just to make sure we weren't jumping back into something because it was easy. we sought wise counsel.
then we came back together and said, "Yep. this is it."

our story didn't stop there, but that chapter ended and another began. We're very different people now than we were two augusts ago, or than we were when we got back together, or than we were a month ago. God moves our relationship closer to Him a bit more each day, and some days I hate how difficult it is. But goodness, am I thankful for our season apart and our seasons since then.


NOW, here we are. two augusts later. two thousand sixteen. it feels like lifetimes have gone by.
and yet the other day, God gave us the strangest way for this part of our story to come full-circle.


it was saturday, we were at his house for his brother's graduation and going-away party. his mom's biological mom (the one I had met in Houston) came to town for it. It was the first time I had seen her since That Weekend in 2014. when we were alone, I commented to Casey "isn't it crazy that it's been almost exactly two years since I first met Sheila? the last time I saw her was That Weekend." he agreed, we talked about how glad we were for that season to have existed, and to be done. I thought that was the end of it.

later that night we sat at opposite ends of the table during a family card game. something ticked in me, and my heart started shaking again. it felt just like that time when we sat at the table after church and he wouldn't look into my eyes.
later that night, I got weird about it and we talked about it and I realized I'm just going to be a mess this August. last year I was consumed with first-year teaching prep, too much to realize anything else going on around me. this year, the memories of 2014 started drowning me.
I cried and he comforted me and we prayed together, and the next morning I assumed I was fine.

We went to church with his parents. I started being startlingly aware of the similarities in "this time in 2014" and now.
We sat on the same row.
But this time he looked at me. He said my name the way he does (he doesn't even know he says it a certain way), the way his eyes crinkle in the middle of it. He held my hand and squeezed it and saw my eyes fill with tears at the memories, and offered his shoulder to cry on. He stuck by my side and held my hand, even when I shrunk away and tried not to hold his because the memories hurt.

After church, we were planning to return home and eat leftover pizza, but I asked his dad what the lunch plans were anyway.
"I think pizza, but we may stop by Cane's and pick up some chicken too."

I laughed out loud. I looked at Casey and said, "OF COURSE!"
Nothing else would make sense. God was flashing this in front of my face and I couldn't help but laugh. I was weird most of the afternoon though, and I tried to pull away from Casey, like I do when I want to be alone in my hurt and not bother him with my heaviness.
We finally had some time alone to talk, and I let out my big tears again, about how much it hurt to see this in front of my face again, about how scared I was that things would be too similar to 2014.

I kind of wish I could share Casey's heart in those moments. He is nothing but the most loving, tender, patient human in the face of my panic and worry. I love many things about him, but that part of him is one of my favorites. I am so glad God gives him the strength and patience and grace to love me well, especially in those times.
Casey always soothes me and helps me breathe again in places I never realize I have been gasping for air.

And to finish off that circle, I left my hug-pillow at Casey's house accidentally. My hug-pillow is the one I hug closer at night when I miss Casey and wish he could be beside me.
When I drove back from the Key house and realized I had left the hug-pillow behind, light-hearted laughter bubbled out of me and it felt like an agonizing leading-tone chord had finally resolved back to tonic.
How perfectly wonderful that this time, the only thing I left at Casey's house was a pillow, and not our relationship.

and now, back to the tiny thing that felt so monumental:
I rediscovered my favorite picture frame tonight; in it was a picture of my favorite day of the 2012 London semester program.
I took the frame from the dusty windowsill it hid on, and dusted it off. I opened up the back of it and took out the old picture, and put a new one in.

And then I remembered how much it hurt to leave London behind. To move on without something that I loved so dearly, with only a vague promise of returning someday.
So I whispered a "thank you" to my Jesus, who has heard my heart these many times over these many days.

"Thank you for taking some things away, for letting them die. Thank you for bringing them back to life and finishing the circle."