plants watered upside-down, and the big move

During covid, I decided (as many of you did) to expand my horizons and start new things/get back into some lost hobbies. I started playing video games with Casey (i.e. watching him play and giving advice), watercolor painting, taking care of plants, cooking and baking more, and playing piano/singing with Casey more. We also got a bird feeder and have become an 80 year old couple who gets up to watch the birds on Saturday mornings, and I don't hate that at all. These things were all so good for my heart and continue to be. I must say, my favorite newfound hobby is the plant-caring-for and bird-watching.

Now, you have to realize, only in the past couple of years have I been able to keep plants alive. Before, whenever I would buy a plant, no matter how sturdy it was, I would kill it, usually by over- or under-watering. In June 2020, after much encouragement from Casey and my friend Hanna, I went to Lowe's and bought a Pothos. While we were getting it settled at home that afternoon, my sweet old neighbor (who was the plant KING, he was amazing, his patio was full of lush plants and so beautiful) came over and offered a cutting of one of his favorite plants. He swore that it was impossible to kill and that it would survive anything, so I accepted it and planted it. After some googling, I *just* discovered it is type of Pallidia plant sometimes called 'Purple Heart'. From there, my little plant collection has grown. I propagated my Pothos shortly after moving to Cleveland- and IT WORKED! So now I have the big Pothos plant and two little ones, my Purple Heart, and I bought a Croton plant last summer that is still thriving! 

At the end of April 2021, I wanted to go for something more adventurous, so I got my first tomato plants. I was pumped, bought some giant terra cotta planters and tomato food and all that jazz, and jumped in. While I was asking around for any advice about tomato plants, my mom gave some advice that became much more meaningful than plant advice. She said, "Since your tomato plants are in pots, you need water them upside-down, to be sure to water the roots. Put a tray under them and water the tray over and over until the plant stops soaking it up. That forces the roots to grow deep in search of water, and your plant will be stronger." That just about smacked me on the forehead. It immediately felt like a metaphor for my faith. 

Over the past year or two, I have been in a new/different/odd place in my relationship with Christ. For a long time, our relationship was easy. I didn't have to work at it much. I had desire to be in the Word and communing with other Believers, and it just... happened. But sometime in the past couple of years, that shifted. It felt like I was in the weird teenage phase of my relationship, where I wasn't 'rebellious', but I found myself suddenly questioning things that had always felt certain. Similar to, "Wait... do my parents REALLY know what is best here? Do they understand the nuances of this situation? Should I lean fully on their judgment or take it with a grain of salt?" Except my questions were, "How do I know I can lean fully on God's guidance? What does it look like to be fully His? Is it possible to be fully His and ________?" (so many things can fill in this blank) So, to use a 'forbidden' buzzword, I believe I'm deconstructing. I see so many things taking hold of the Church in America that make me go... That's not Jesus. How do they think that's like Jesus? And so many things in my heart that make me go... That's not Jesus. How did I think that was like Jesus for this long?

In the midst of these questions and the watering of plants, I realized, I am being watered upside-down right now. He is growing my roots deep. And it doesn't look pretty on the outside, it doesn't feel like a freshly-watered pot, and many days I have felt dry on the surface, but I am watered deep within. I think that's a good thing? Sometimes I'm not sure that I'm doing this right, but I am trying, and I am looking for Him wherever I can find Him, and I am saying Yes to Him when he starts to change me, and I think that's right. 

There are many days I have asked Him, "Am I on the right path? Please move me if I'm not." I am so afraid of getting decades down the path and suddenly realizing I went the wrong way. Is it enough to just trust that He is a Good Shepherd and will lead and guide me, and my feeble idea of control is absolutely laughable? 

Somewhere in here, the birds fit in. They absolutely love our feeder and will empty it in 8 hours. As I watch them, and look at the plants on my patio, I am reminded of Matthew 6 and filled with hope. The birds do not prepare or plan ahead, and yet God cares for them and feeds them. The plants do not toil to be clothed, but God makes their coverings beautiful- for something that is here one day and gone the next! "How much more so" just keeps coming to my mind. How much more so does He prepare and provide for me and cover me. There, on my back patio, He has given the cure for my worries. 

And now, Casey and I find ourselves moving to a new back patio. Back "home" to Hub City. And while we are overjoyed at the Lord providing this, it is also extremely bittersweet. There have been loooooots of opportunities for worry, and God has been providing so much peace. Peace that, as Philippians 4 promised, passes my understanding. I literally find myself trying to objectively process the fact that we are moving, starting new jobs, living in a house, leaving our Cleveland people... all the changes... and going, wait- shouldn't I feel more worried about this? This is not like me. But thanks be to God for this peace that feels illogical!

Let me rewind a bit:

When we first found out we were moving to Cleveland, I was not happy. I shed a lot of tears and felt a lot of rebellion in my heart, but thanks to some wise and encouraging friends, I found the ability to exhale a prayer: “if this is it, God, change my heart.”

And He so absolutely did. 

Against all odds, I love this place. At first, it was just “oh my gosh, Cleveland is so small!”, but so many things that weren’t Cleveland’s fault have given reason for us to not love it. We have been far from our families, with few friends, in a small town. We experienced the darkest days of grief here. We lost three of our favorite people in less than two years- two of them within a month of each other. The walls of apartment 4102 have echoed our cries and seen our buckets of tears. We have been so fluent in tears during our Cleveland time. And yet…

I have loved this season. Casey and I are even more of a weird little team who spend 90% of our time together, and it shows. I love the people that Cleveland brought us, especially PDS. It was a miracle to begin with, me finding PDS at the time that I did, but it has become more of a miracle each day. My heart is knotted up in it, and leaving is gonna be excruciating. I fully believe Mary Kline, my teaching partner, is literally a gift from the Lord to me. There are not words good enough to express how much her guidance and partnership has meant to me. In fact, I feel that way about most of PDS. It is something I do not count lightly, the way they accepted this stranger so quickly, the deep love I have for the place I’ve worked and the people I’ve worked with. I know how uncommon it is to find that. I know the discomfort of working in a place where you feel like you have to keep your guard up. And let me tell you, it has been an absolute oasis to be in a place that is so much the opposite of that.

Somehow, oasis seems to be the word sticking in my mind during this move. When I drove away from my job interview at my new school and began talking to God, I said through happy tears: it feels like I have been in a desert this whole time and just stumbled upon an oasis. Kinda doing a double-take, like... wait, I was in a desert this whole time?!?

And while I am so thankful for the Lord's presence with me (and Casey) in the desert, in the spiritually dry and lonely and exhausting, I keep leaking out more happy tears at His provision of WATER. Set-your-Pothos-in-the-water-bowl-and-let-it-soak-up-everything-it-can water. We were watered upside-down in this season, and it was necessary and good and brought some beautiful lessons. I can't express my gratitude for that enough. And simultaneously, I am deeply thankful for the change of season happening before my eyes and looking forward to the new lessons and gifts it holds.

So. goodbye Cleveland. There are so many things I will miss: La Michoacana mocha ice cream and nutella pops, 50 nights of lights, Zoe Coffee, Uncle Jo’s mac and cheese, going out for Sunday lunch after church, being literally 5 minutes (or less) away from anywhere I need to go, seeing people we know in Kroger every single time, the winter snows, and stunning sunsets. And you sure know I won’t miss it, but I will never forget the insane mosquito season. 😂 I will, however, miss the dragonflies in July/August and my wonderful little slice of heaven in room 406 at PDS and my #dreamteam partner. 

this plant was in a funeral arrangement from a loved one,
and it became our classroom plant this year. I marvel at the irony
(or accuracy?) of the planter: let love grow. 

my sweet lil patio plants last summer (pre-bird feeder)

So thank you, my God, for being One who walks beside me in Cleveland and Hattiesburg just the same. Thank you for these plants and the ways you teach me about me through them. 

Thank you for planting me, for planting Your Word in me (Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent, and humbly accept the Word planted in you, which can save you! IF YOU DON'T THINK JAMES 1 THROWS DOWN, WE CANNOT BE FRIENDS haha but really).

Thanks for the eleven- and twelve-year-olds that speak James 1 to me and over me multiple times a day-- that's a gift I don't think I even grasp the depth of yet. 

Thank you for this heart of mine that cares so deeply and holds on so strongly to those I love. Thank you for the beauty of a broken heart as I leave people who have affected every bit of me.

Thank you for constantly reminding me "how much more so".

Thank you for holding all my tomorrows and tenderly walking me into each one- that is the best of it all.

this is a jumble and I don't like it.

Well, it's been a year. Every time I've come here to write, I closed the tab. The words just wouldn't come. There was a time in my life, about four years ago (actually exactly four years ago), when I had nothing but words to type. Everything was pent up inside me and the only way to process was to write. I suppose I should be thankful that it's not that way anymore, but I developed an attachment back then, and I still haven't let go.
When I think about it, a little voice inside me says, "Bec, you're still a writer," but I've always had trouble claiming that title. It seems so lofty. However, I cannot deny that there are always words inside me, winding themselves around in my head, attempting to find clever ways out. Is that all it takes to call oneself a writer?
Anyway, I'm a good bit ashamed of this post, because it jumps around and isn't very coherent and is NOT the type of writing a TRUE WRITER would produce, I tell myself. But I'm really not here to prove myself as a writer. I'm here to share my heart, to be open and honest, and to hope that God uses it to speak to someone. I'm pretty sure this post will end up being a big jumble of thoughts and emotions, and I dread that, but I know I need to just DO THE THING. Please bear with me.

Life lately has been... different. Kinda funky. It's a lot of self-discovery and avoiding listening to the news and trying to not be so hard on myself.
Here, I must admit that I'm a basic white girl and am VERY into enneagram numbers right now. Which, I believe, is leading to some really beneficial learning-about-myself time.
For a long time, I thought I was a Two- caring, people-pleasing, helper. Then I started seeing a lot of Four tendencies in myself.
Then I listened to Annie Downs' That Sounds Fun podcast on Enneagram Fours and I spent the entire hour going, "WAIT, THIS IS ME! IT'S ME, I'M A FOUR!" and crying along with the speakers.
It's been so beautiful and refreshing and rewarding to hear my tendencies and personality traits explained through the lens of the Gospel, and how those traits can be used to serve and love well. I can't tell you how many times I've cried about that.

And I must say, it tastes so sweet and feels so freeing to realize that part of my Four-ness and Individualist-ness and highly-sensitive-person-ness is a TOOL that God has given me to encourage and empathize and spread words of Truth. My ability to cry at the drop of a baby squirrel is not a weakness, not something I should apologize for, or hide, or feel ashamed of. My ability to cry while listening to any slightly emotional story is a TOOL that God has given me to be able to relate to people and to love them viscerally (tbh, not sure if viscerally is the right word there, but it's the best I've got).

So, needless to say, that made me fall in love with the That Sounds Fun podcast all over again-- I already liked it, but now I have feelings for it. Naturally, I then consumed it like crazy for about a week. I listened to some of my favorite authors and musicians being interviewed- they all made me cry. I learned a lot from all of them, but my favorites were Robin Jones Gunn, Mandisa, and Priscilla Shirer (you should go listen). Robin Jones Gunn reminded me of the importance of friends and of God's sovereignty in all our disappointments. Mandisa spoke about learning to stop hiding from the parts of us we are ashamed of, and instead to speak truth to ourselves and those around us. Priscilla Shirer really got me- she said she was in a season of "holy unrest", and that resonated deeply in me.

I feel like all of me is in that state of holy unrest right now. I'm uncomfortable, almost itchy, and I know there's a reason for it. He's making me uncomfortable for some reason that I can't see yet. I feel the need to get up and do something new in this season... but I can't tell what season this even is. It doesn't feel like any of them. Maybe Winter? I can't tell yet. I just know I'm transitioning to a new season and He's preparing me for something.

(I must remind myself that it isn't a coincidence that these podcasts that I listened to months after they aired, out of order, spoke to me. Every one of them was provided to me by my Father. That makes me weepy, thinking about the fact that He cares enough about me and my worries and my heart to give me some truth in the form of PODCASTS.)

I don't know about you, but I find myself most frequently battling one emotion: fear. I think, if we're honest, that's true for all of us. I'm terrified of what He's preparing me for, of the season He's introducing. I feel very certain that it will be hard and He will require some things of me that I don't think I can do. I'm scared of that.
That's why it is so touching that God's perfect love drives out fear. His ability to show us love in these insane, earthy, human ways is meant to drive the fear out of our hearts and lead us to Him.

As much of my writing does, this will circle back to Casey, so if that annoys you, just skip this bit. When Casey and I first broke up in August 2014, I was terrified. I realized that I loved him and I was terrified that losing him would scar me, or he would never come back to my life. I remember many days of waking up scared that I'd lost this guy who had quickly become one of my best friends, asking God, "Do I have to give him all the way up?"
The answer, of course, was yes.
At that time, I stumbled upon the perfect song- All We Are is Yours, by Daylight Worship. I cannot tell you how many times I listened to that song in the fall of 2014. The lyrics say,

"Whatever you say, whatever the cost, all we are is Yours

Wherever we go, whenever You call, we give all our strength that Your name would be known."

That resonated so perfectly in my heart. As much as I wanted to still be Casey's girl, to still be friends, to hold onto what we had, I knew the only way to move forward was to offer "us" up to God. To open my heart to the possibility of a call that I didn't like, or a cost that felt very unaffordable. To prioritize my relationship with Him over Casey.
I'll finish the story quickly by telling you what many of you already know- Casey came back in my life eight months later with all the beautiful timing and truth only God could orchestrate. We dated for 3 more years, and when planning our wedding, the one song we knew we had to have included was All We Are is Yours. This time we had many of the same feelings I'd had years before: fear, trepidation, nervous excitement. I think every time you fully place your trust in God, those emotions are to be expected. We knew that we would do what He said, go where He called us, whatever the cost. But that's scary and our human minds had a hard time wrapping around the idea of His ability to provide for us at every twist and turn.

That's most of why I wrote the waiting and believing post, about our marriage, life in Hattiesburg, and all that God has brought about here: because I had been terrified, and my little heart relied on His love to get us through. And it did. We waited. We believed. He loved us. We survived. He drove out our fear. We grew. That was enough.

And it still is enough.
Sometimes I feel like life is happening so fast, there will never be enough time to soak up all the lovely moments that go flying past me every day. I fear forgetting these days. I will never be able to memorize every detail of Casey's face, but I need to have it memorized because there is a 50/50 chance that I will have to live without him at some point. There is not enough time in this future of beautiful things blazing past me. It literally makes my throat get tight, the fear of missing all the good stuff. It paralyzes me sometimes and lays in my chest, heavy and dark. Ironically, the fear of missing all the good stuff leads me to missing stuff, because I'm letting fear settle in me. I'm giving it a place to live. And I'm tired of doing that.

In those moments over over-awareness, I feel every little moment so deeply. Kids smiles. Tears. The sound of dragonfly wings. The silliest things. I want to use that over-awareness to cherish life, not to fear missing things. Since it's January 1, I strongly feel the need to have succinct resolutions, or a word for my year, or some sort of vision... but I don't have any of that.

I have things I feel God has spoken into my heart:
I will see salvation this year.
He will provide for the scary unknown that is the months of 2020 after May.
I can trust Him.

That's all I've got. No cute picture. I don't even have a verse yet. But I think His voice is enough.

songs that have been resonating lately:
-Barter (SSA arr. by Clausen)
-High Flight (SSA arr. by Karen Linford Robinson)
-Embracing Accusation (Shane and Shane)
-All We Are is Yours (Daylight Worship)
-Music of My Heart (Nicole C. Mullen-- man I miss her)

everything. perhaps we should call it The Big Remodel.

Somewhere along my way here, something told me that I had no right to talk about my pain. I started believing I shouldn’t acknowledge or talk about the things that hurt me and the season of death I’m encountering (leaving?), because mine is so ‘easy’. Which, I guess, is true.
In comparison-- ground gets shaky and dangerous once that word enters the picture-- to much of the world, my pain and sorrow is negligible and laughable.
But believing that I have no right to be open about sorrow I experience is just SATAN.

Let me back up.
Over the past three weeks that I've been blog-less, God has been whispering so much I can hardly hold on to one thing long enough to sketch the most vague idea of it down before another wafts my way. Living in a community of God-lovers (which I love so much, don't get me wrong!) is exhausting in times like these because I am CONSTANTLY being asked, "What is God teaching you lately?" and I always want to respond, "EVERYTHING."

He's teaching me to die to self every day, pick up my cross, and follow Him.
He's teaching me to dwell on things of God and not on the things on man. (Romans 8:5)
He's teaching me that losing my life & dreams is the only way to find life & come alive.
He's teaching me how critical it is for me to surround myself with words of Life, people who speak Truth, and music that breathes Hope.
He's teaching me to hide His Word in my heart, and how greatly it affects my desire/lack of desire to sin against Him.
He's teaching me to see people and listen to them, even to things they don't say.
He's teaching me redundancy is okay.
He's teaching me to live a messy life reeking of redemption and splashing on passersby.

He's teaching me to pray.
He's teaching me to cry.
He's teaching me not to hide.
He's teaching me to stop trying to be tough and sassy.

He's teaching me to be honest with myself.
He's teaching me to love myself AND others.
He's teaching me to rely on Him and abide in Him.
He's teaching me to bear fruit.

He's teaching me to do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but to humbly consider others better than myself.
He's teaching me to look out for others' interests and heartbreaks.

He's teaching me to stop comparing.
He's teaching me to replace, "How am I better? How am I worse?" with "How can I bless them? What can I learn from them?"

He's teaching me to stay.
He's teaching me to speak.
He's teaching me to be renewed.
He's teaching me to leave shame behind.
He's teaching me how to study a living, breathing Word that reads me even as I read it.

He's teaching me to see His patterns.
He's teaching me to hear His voice.
He's teaching me to read His signs.
He's teaching me to question.
He's teaching me to measure everything I see, say, hear, and do against His Word.

He's teaching me to empty myself.
He's teaching me how to be filled.
He's teaching me what to let fill me.

He's teaching me to be a cathedral.
He's teaching me what it means to be a cathedral.
He's teaching me to say, "OK," through the tears.

He's teaching me love.
He's teaching me to love.
He's teaching me how to love.
He's teaching me how to be Love.

((if you didn't stop and think about at least a few of those, please go back and do so. Let Him whisper to you, too.))

And you know, there are probably more things He's teaching me that I haven't thought to put words to yet. I am, at all times, as constantly as I have ever experienced in my nearly twenty-two years of life, being amazed by Him.

I would love to be able to wrap that in a pretty little box for you and tell you that all the things I am learning and being amazed by are so fun and lovely and painless.
HA.

The searing pain of spiritual discipline is deeper than any other pain I have ever known.
It's life-wrecking.

It's the kind of pain that leaves you
sitting in the big chair in your new apartment's living room,
a roommate on either side,
shaking and crying and attempting to breathe,
while the world passes by on the road outside our window
with no knowledge of the revolution going on
in the little girl's heart that lives in that old house.
No matter how hard I try to convey that spiritual pain to you, it's not one you can understand until you've experienced it.

I've said this many times in my recently-passed conversations about the God-things in 2015 so far:

I always thought I knew what self-sacrifice meant until now.

I thought I knew what it meant to undergo spiritual discipline.

I thought I knew what Love was and what Love did and what Love looked like.

I thought I knew what that pain felt like.

But I didn't.

I know now: I never knew. 

I still don't know.

I see a tiny, tiny, beautifully tragic fraction of what it looks and feels like.

When I get to this point in the thought process, I always try to boil it down to one big thing. And right now, it all comes down to this:

be His cathedral.

the commandment of my year. my heart.

I'm still not entirely sure what it means or should look like, but I know this:

without the presence of God in it, a cathedral is just a sad, old building.

The only thing that makes a cathedral beautiful, sacred, and holy is the Shekinah Glory of God- the very presence of the Lord- filling it. **side note: I still don't know or understand enough about Shekinah Glory, but if you know nothing about it, read up on it (a little). 

So my quest then becomes: find the presence of God. figure out how to let Him live in me.
Which is a funny thing, because with all that He's teaching me, He's doing the serious remodeling needed to make my sin-filled, self-inclined human heart a place where He can dwell.
I also know He inhabits the praises of His people; He lives in "our praises, filling up the spaces in between our frailty and everything [He is]." (Restless by Audrey Assad). We have a God who responds when we ask "as I sing to You, in my praises, make Your home!" (Audience of One by Big Daddy Weave).

I find it so beautiful that in Exodus when God outlined for Moses and the Israelites EXACTLY how the Tabernacle was to be designed and set up and consecrated (He spent CHAPTERS doing so!), He had a purpose in it. It was ornate and beautiful and sacred and holy- because it was His dwelling place.
Then, when Christ died, the veil, which separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the Tabernacle-- literally the only place where redemption of sins could be found, and the only place where God's spirit could dwell (Exodus 26:33, 30:6)-- was torn in two (Matthew 27:51). There was no more separation.
We got to become His dwelling places. We got to be made holy because His glory could now fill us as it used to fill the Tabernacle (Exodus 40:14).
We got the chance to become His tabernacles, His cathedrals; We got the chance to become inhabited by the Spirit of the Living God as our hearts and minds fill with praise for Him.

What an undeserved blessing.
What glorious newness is there to be found amidst the searing pain of self-sacrifice.

In my learning to study His Word, I have found a new connection with several hearts that fill the Old Testament- one of which is Joseph. Mainly because he cried a lot.
In Genesis 41, shortly after Joseph has risen to a pretty significant position under Pharaoh, we see a little section about Joseph naming his kids. Verses 50-52 say:
"Before the year of famine came, two sons were born to Joseph. Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera priest of On, bore them to him. Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh. "For," he said, "God has made me forget all my hardship and all my father's house." The name of the second he called Ephraim, "For God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction."

Now, I'm obviously not claiming to be on Joseph's level here. But I love finding a treasure like that in an odd place.
I love seeing it and clinging to the truth:
God will make me fruitful in this land of affliction.

{this blog and Becca's current heart-movements inspired by Mark 8, the book of Lamentations, Romans 6-8, and the following albums:

Majestic by Kari Jobe

Cathedrals by Tenth Avenue North

City of Black and White by Mat Kearney}

the 1 Timothy 4:12 challenge

Back in August, when I had first moved into the apartment and was just doing my own thing trying to spend my days as best I could and still didn't have class, God started this thing. It was, in typical God-Thing fashion, completely out of the blue and something I could never have thought up on my own. I had been listening to an old audio CD of the 2010 TeenPact National Convention sessions for a week or so, slowly listening to bits of each session when I was driving hither and yonder. And of course, over the course of the past four years, I had completely forgotten the things God had whispered to my heart during NC, so He was busy re-wrecking me with those truths.

One day I was driving down I-220, after having treated myself to some Target shopping for teacher things, and listening to Zach Hunter's session about his organization Loose Change to Loosen Chains. It had nothing directly to do with what God had been teaching me; there was nothing in it that I would have pulled out and said "THIS RELATES TO MY LIFE SO PERFECTLY RIGHT NOW."

BUT GOD.

Honestly, I can't even recall what Zach was talking about when he brought up 1 Timothy 4:12. It just hit me suddenly and I zoned out from what He was saying and was caught up in these God-thing thoughts. That verse was what I once claimed to be my "life verse". It was the one I had memorized and felt called by as a 9-year-old at my first summer camp (at MC, no less).

"Do not let others look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith, and in purity."

then WHAM.

God was all, "Hello, Becca. It is August. that means there are five months left in 2014. And would you look at that! There are five areas in which you should set an example that are listed here. Not a coincidence. Also not a coincidence that you have been struggling with unsure speech lately and that happens to be the first thing I'm going to work on you with."

So then and there, on the wavy I-220 whose foundation of Yazoo Clay seems to be having loyalty issues, He challenged me. and we made a pact.

SPEECH= August was rough. I was not very faithful to hold up my end of the "setting an example" deal. I gossiped and I cursed and I used slang words too often and I spoke a lot of words of death, instead of life, especially into myself. It was really hard and I felt like I had failed big-time by the end of the month. But, I had mentioned to two or three friends the work that God had started and all of them said, "Oh gosh, Becca. He's been telling me to work on that, too. Can I join you?" and it was so wonderful to have them there to confess my failings to and to find encouragement and words of life from them.

LIFE= this one befuddled me, and I spent a good 12 days of September trying to figure out how to "set an example... in life." It seemed so vague and broad that I hardly knew what to do with it. Then one evening I had dinner with one of my fabulous KT breaux, Myles, and he spoke & prayed words of truth and life and Jesus that made everything become clear. He reminded me that we have already conquered death and sin and darkness by the blood of Jesus, and to live in any mindset but one of LIFE and VICTORY and LIGHT is to make small the sacrifice of Christ. So I spent the month being reminded of His victory in my life and in the world, and learning what it meant to SPEAK LIFE.

(I love that He didn't just teach me these things individually and separately, but used them to build on top of each other little by little.)

LOVE= October seems like anything but the month for love, so being the rebel that I am, I decided to make it the most loving month I could. I started with trying to love myself better, love others deeper, love Christ more fully, and love life more freely. and wouldn't you know God brought so much love to my heart that I could barely handle it. I spent my last two weeks at GMS loving those students as hard as I could and hoping they would feel it, see it, or remember it (and realize it later). My literal dead mums were brought back to life, and students that I didn't know even cared about me displayed obvious respect and affection and "I'm going to miss you so much!"s during my last week with them. I found a litter of kittens, and spent weekends with beloved friends having LIFE and LOVE SPOKEN into me (yes, He just keeps building), and I realized how much I loved and admired my cooperating teacher. I crashed a KT meeting and an old active friend made my night by freaking out when she saw me and exclaiming how glad she was that I was there. I realized I'm actually a pretty good teacher and that I love it, I decided to stop wallowing in self-pity and choose to love and appreciate suffering because it produces perseverance and character in me, and I started my teaching at the new placement and didn't like it at first but started learning to love it. I learned Love really does require self-sacrifice and that the sacrifice of self leads to brokenness and then miracles and multiplication on His end of things (see previous blog post for more on that). There was just a lot of odd kinds of love I experienced in this odd month that seems like it shouldn't be one full of love (mostly because it isn't February), but was anyway. Because Jesus seems to be a fan of oxymorons and the like.

FAITH= this one I find hilarious. November is only 8 days deep, so far, and already He has given me so many opportunities to let my faith take deeper root in my heart and soul. I'm remembering what it means when He says that "without faith, it is impossible to please God." I'm recalling what faith really looks like when it's played out in my life, and that it really is as simple (but ?) as being assured of things I hope for and being certain of what I cannot see. There is a peace that comes with knowing that God will do what He said He would do, even when those promises seem to have drifted far away with no hope of returning; there is a joy that comes with waiting on Him to find you and bring His promises full circle, because there is comfort and assurance and expectancy in the blind waiting. Stepping out of the boat I'm in, out of the city founded half on pride and half on fear, that I have built myself, and onto a future and promises as uncertain as a choppy lake, is not fun or easy but there is exhilaration in stepping out and finding the surface tension can hold me up and I can run on this illogical track. He has led me and kept me here for a reason, and I can hold tight to the lifeline in front of me that I can't really even see, and I can trust His unfulfilled promises will be filled to overflowing. and I really look forward to all the other things He will show me regarding faith over the rest of this month.

PURITY= I don't understand this one yet. Pray that God will prepare my heart for it and wreak havoc in me all over again, as He has each month throughout this challenge of His.

the end.

THE FAIR

Thursday night, I went to the State Fair for the first time ever. Since I'd never been before, when we first arrived, I was FLIPPING OUT. I'm talking exclamations of wonder and jumping up and down and pointing like a three-year-old who thinks she's in a wonderland. Overall, I was in disbelief at how cool this place was and how I had never been before, and I wished I had come sooner. For dinner, I ate chicken on a stick for the first time and loved it.

I marveled at everything and laughed at things that probably weren't funny, and I just had a ball. Then we bought our tickets for the rides. It was $2 Thursday, so $20 got me 10 tickets (so I could go on 10 rides!), and that was FAB. But after I purchased the tickets, I realized how quickly my money was flowing from my hands and I started wishing that I didn't have to give up so much to get so little in return.
We went on the giant slide and it was super. Then we made our way down to the Ferris Wheel, and it was my first time on a Ferris Wheel, and it was terrifying but wonderful. Mostly all the rides were just too short, though, and you'd think, "OK WOW, This is going to be awesome!" when you were getting on. Then a few blinks later, it was over, and you are just left there like, "...really? That's all?"
So you go on another ride.

View from the top of the Ferris Wheel

We went on "Freak Out", and it was horrific. My friends tried to convince me it wouldn't be that bad, but as we stood in line and I watched the people before me being flung around at an obscene height and parallel to the ground, I started regretting my decision. When we got on, I tried to convince myself it was going to be ok, but within ten seconds of the ride starting, I had decided to just brave my way through it. I held my breath and scrunched my face up and tensed my whole body and never opened my eyes the whole time, just wishing it to be over. I kept thinking, "I didn't want to go on this! Why did I let them talk me into it?!" But they had said it was "breezy" and fun. {it wasn't. they remembered incorrectly.} I thought I was going to faint or throw up or die and I was kinda mad that they had talked me into it, and that I had wasted a ticket on that terrible thing. But I was also glad that at least I could now say I had done it, I had ridden the awful ride and people would think I was cool for having braved it and come out on top.
We continued on several rides such as the Tilt-a-Whirl, Crazy Mouse, some spinny thing, and then the slide again-- all much less terrifying than the Freak Out.
I started realizing that we were the only ones screaming and laughing on the rides. Everyone else had straight faces during and after the ride, like they were numb to the exhilaration and adrenaline. The more I looked around, the more I saw unhappy people trudging around a fair, eating too much and riding these stupid rides, and getting absolutely no joy out of it. I, the Fair Virgin, was having the TIME OF MY LIFE (with a couple exceptions) looking at all the stuffed animal prizes, and bonding with the animals in the Petting Zoo, and screaming at the top of my lungs when the Tilt-a-Whirl flung me around unexpectedly. They, the ones who had obviously been there before, seemed to be doing everything aimlessly. And it was terrifying and depressing.
These guys came up to us asking us to kiss them for a scavenger hunt (we didn't). Creepy ride worker dudes hit on us. We almost stepped in puke. The majority of the fairgrounds smelled like fecal matter, beer, and fried things, all mingled together. People were doing everything they could to get you to try THEIR game or eat THEIR food and it was just exhausting being constantly pulled in four directions.
At the end, we went on this water ride. And it was disgusting. We got SOAKED in this nasty brow water that smelled like wet wallpaper. And we proceeded to walk around dripping wet.

Feeling nasty after the water ride

We bought overpriced cotton candy and sno-cones and funnel cake and suddenly the $50 I had brought with me (just in case I needed money for other things later in the week) was gone. I WASTED FIFTY DOLLARS.
And it was terribly disheartening and I can't help but overanalyze it all and think about it as a metaphor for the life of sin. Not that I am sin-free or perfect, but I live my life trying to run away from sin and seek the Lord, not embrace sin and live in its tangles.
It made me sad for people who live like that, who give away too much in exchange for nothing at all, and it reminded me of the Pleasure Island scene in Pinocchio.
Can we just praise God that He gives us a way out of that?! Because that is incredible and hope-inducing.

a wee little tale of mine.

Once upon a time there was a young girl. She was a dreamer, and a collector of moments, words, thoughts, and feelings. She was brave and never understood what people meant when they talked about fear. She was almost jealous of everyone else, that they got to experience the feeling of fear while she didn't, but the way they talked about it reassured her that life was better without it. 

She didn't have any friends, only acquaintances, and she was constantly trying to figure out why. 

Recently, she had come to the conclusion that it was partially because they simply couldn't relate to her. At least, those few acquaintances that she had couldn't. Maybe someday someone would, but she had settled within herself that that day was a long ways off. 

For now, though, she lived with her dreams and her bravery and collected things as companions and was perfectly satisfied. 

One day as she was exploring the woods near her house, she stumbled upon an old box. As she did with all old things, the girl stopped to inspect this box. It was decorated with muddy leaves accidentally stuck onto it by what appeared to be a long time living in the woods. The box was small and light enough to be held in her arms, but would be hard to hide in the brush until she could come back later. Her options stood before her: leave the box in the open and risk it being found by another human or animal, or take it back with her and deal with others' curiosity. "First," she said to herself, "I should find a way to open this." The bottom appeared to be weakly attached to the sides, so she found a rough, flat pebble nearby to wedge into the corners and pry open the box with. 

Surprisingly, after only a minute of pressing and wiggling the rock into the corners and bottom edges of the box, the box fell apart in her hands. 

Pocketing the rock to add to her collection (she did, in fact, collect concrete objects as well as abstract ones), she carefully laid the contents of the box out on a nearby patch of sun. There was a small journal no bigger than her hand, a tarnished silver chain necklace, a tiny sand dollar that couldn't have been bigger than a quarter, and another box inside. The box was smaller, a bronzey-copper colored metal, and had engraved nature scenes on every side. 

She cautiously ran her fingers across the aged copper box and couldn't decide what to do next. She almost treasured the secret the box held more than she could treasure what might be inside it, and she had a suspicion that it was one of the many things in life that was best when accepted as-is. 

With that, she tucked the box into the crook of her elbow and headed back out of the woods, tracing for herself a new path (as she did every time she visited these woods). Before she reached the edge of the woods, the girl stepped out of her own mind just long enough to realize she had left the journal, necklace, and sand dollar back in the woods. She paused, unsure whether they were worth going back for or not. After all, she hadn't inspected the journal to see what, if anything, was written inside. However, after a few moments of deliberation she decided the box's mystery drawing her was stronger than that of the journal, and she would risk never knowing about it, if it meant she got time to sit secluded with the box and open it. She continued on her path out of the woods and to her house. 

Instead of heading to her room, though, she meandered with drifting thoughts to the barn. Precariously clenching the box under her right arm, she clambered up the ladder to her Space. It, of course, smelled like a barn, but welcomed her with the warm familiarity of a place she had spent many hours thinking and imagining. Upon reaching the top of the ladder, she felt around the dim space for her box of matches and lit the antique oil lamp. Though there were still several hours of daylight left, the barn kept the light out and she needed the lamp's light to see by, plus it made the small upper section of the barn seem more intimate and secretive. 

She was, for no reason, nervous that someone would come upon her and want to share in her box's secrets. This strange sensation, almost akin to fear, was one she rarely experienced and didn't know how to process. As she pulled the ladder up with her to ensure no one would disturb her, the girl got a sudden chill that trembled through her body and out her fingertips. Somehow she knew it was not a chill from the cool temperature outside or in the barn, but rather something related to the box. She sat Indian style and set this mysterious copper box on her crossed calves, holding it gingerly. That odd cold feeling had not left her when the chill did, and before the suspense of the closed box could even build up, she had opened it. 

For some reason she had expected the chill to dissipate when she opened the box, but it only took deeper hold. She looked down into the box, stunned. An abstract fog had come over her and she was in a daze, aware of what was happening but not understanding it. The box held only dried leaves, some partially crushed, at first glance. Dazedly pushing the leaves around in the box to see if there were any other contents, she found two heavy buttons as dark as black onyx. She picked them up and held them between thumb and forefinger, feeling a weight settle in her chest. There was something about these buttons that was changing her, something about them that was irresistible but needed to be resisted. 

In her daze, she decided these buttons belonged on her shirt, and she began the short trek down the ladder, out the barn, and across the backyard to her house. Once inside she slipped into her mother's closet, where the sewing table was kept, and pulled out a seam ripper, needle, and thread. Carefully using the seam ripper to cut the threads and remove two of her current shirt's buttons, she worked stealthily, acutely aware of any other noises in the house. Before too long, she had replaced her shirt's buttons with the new onyx buttons and was replacing the sewing tools in their storage drawer. 

She closed the closet door and traipsed back down to her room, peering out hallway windows as she passed them as if she were on the lookout for intruders in her yard. Though still dazed, she knew that this uncertainty and suspicion within her meant something was awry. "What if this box belongs to someone else and I'll get in trouble for taking it?" she pondered. "Or what if this odd feeling I got when I opened the box never goes away?" Her mind quickly created absurd scenarios that played out in her mind and made more "what if" questions spin about. 

She continued in her fog for the rest of the day and evening, unbothered by anyone else. After a night of restless sleep, she awoke the next morning and headed to school. As usual, she kept to herself and silently observed her acquaintances engage in their boisterous greeting and social interactions. Suddenly she felt a small finger tapping her on the shoulder- but surely she must be mistaken, no one talked to her at school- and turned around. 

There stood a classmate of hers- a frail boy with dark circles under his eyes but a hopefulness on his face that made the rest of him seem happy too. 

"Hi, Alexandra."

She was shocked. It had been so long since she had heard her name spoken, especially by someone other than her parents, that she didn't quite know what to say in return. 

A "hello" eeked out somehow, and she tried to follow it up with a polite smile, though she was nervous to engage in conversation. 

"How are you today? You seem different. What did you do this weekend?"

Before she could even respond, he had continued with his enthusiastic but unobtrusive conversation. He didn't seem to be bothered by her silence and continued jabbering on and asking unanswered questions as they strode to their school room. Once inside, he finally quieted and turned thoughtfully toward her, offering one last remark: "You just seem afraid and I hope everything is ok." And with that, he slid into his desk and nodded solemnly before breaking eye contact. 

It was like she had been walking through autumn without realizing, then suddenly stepped on a dry and crunchy leaf. She looked around her and became aware, suddenly, that she WAS afraid. 

THIS IS FEAR! She thought, triumphantly at first, then with less excitement. 

This is fear. I dread conversation, I have a suspicious feeling of being followed, I can barely find words to express myself anymore. Once she realized it was fear she was finally experiencing, the fog began to lift, but still felt like it was hanging at eyebrow-level, like a hair that gets stuck in your eyelash and somehow impairs a great deal of your vision. 

She scooted through the school day, as she usually did, paying little attention to anything but her own dancing thoughts. 

There were many new thoughts, now, that included fear. It brought a darkness on her mind and day that was discomforting and hard to see past, but she quickly learned- as she assumed most humans had by this time in their lives- to push these fearful thoughts to the side and focus on other things. 

Soon enough, the school day was over and she found her frail- dare she say- friend! walking out beside her. 

"Hey there. How'd you do with the math stuff today? I'm not too good at math but today I did ok."

She looked at him curiously as he jabbered on, oblivious to his own eagerness in conversation. He seemed to be free from fear, as she used to be, or at least in this moment he was. She interrupted him timidly, finally gaining back the bravery to speak to this new friend. 

"Why did you decide to talk to me today?"

"You looked scared."

"That's it?"

"Well. Yeah..."

He hesitated, his eyes drifted away from her and caught on the black buttons, then darted back up to her, his face suddenly alert. 

"You never seemed scared before until today."

Surely, she thought, he couldn't really tell the difference. After all, she couldn't even remember his name (and had been avoiding having to use it because of that fact), so there was no way he had paid enough attention to her to notice something like that. 

They walked on in silence for a ways, Alexandra turning these questions over in her mind, and The Boy Whose Name She Couldn't Remember contentedly kicking pebbles in his path. When they reached the end of his driveway- it was just off the main road- they stopped and faced each other. 

Almost as if he had been waiting for her to look him in the eyes before he let his words spill out, suddenly the lock had turned and he whispered urgently: "I know those buttons. They were mine once." 

Puzzled, she stood in the silence, in the hopeful yet somber embrace of his dark eyes. He continued, "You found the box, didn't you?"

"Yes," was the only answer she could find. All the explanations or questions that might have tumbled from her lips sat locked up, too big to exit her body. 

"We should talk about it. Will your parents let you stay here for a little while?"

She nodded her response, and he led her through the chain-link fence into his backyard, to a rickety swing set. 

They sat in more silence, once again shoulder to shoulder (she usually found it easiest to talk to people in this position), and swung lazily, peeling off the rust of the swing's chain. The weight that had settled in her chest yesterday, she realized, had fully returned. There was a tightness in the pit of her stomach, a tremor starting in her body, a chill that, like yesterday, was caused by something deeper than temperatures. 

It was obvious to her that this was fear: the weighted down feeling that meant she could no longer fly whenever she wished. The knowledge that anytime, without warning, something could happen to knock her back down. 

In attempt to throw the weight off she found the energy to strongly ask, "Would you tell me about the buttons?" and shift her head ever-so-slightly to see his reaction. 

He smiled, which surprised her, inhaled, and let his words flow out with his exhalation: "Well, like I said, they were mine. I found them just as you did, in a box abandoned in the middle of nowhere. For me, that was by a river I was wading in during a family vacation. For you, it was the woods, right?" 

Again, he didn't stop for her response. "I don't know where they come from, but I think they pass from person to person. At least from what I can tell, they do. After me, they passed to Cora- you know Cora, from school? She's a year older than us. She found them where I had buried them, far off the hiking trail at the nature center. They made her afraid too, but she won't talk about it. She almost never got them off her shirt, but when she finally did she didn't recover like I did. I never see her anymore, except at school, and she ignores me there."

The information was almost too much to process. Though she was a dreamer, this current Button Owner had never been one for mystics or fairy tales- she much preferred realistic dreams. And this, well, it simply couldn't be real. 

"You mean the buttons stick to your shirt?"

"Didn't you find it weird that you wanted to sew them on in the first place? Yes, of course they stick!" She was agitated that he said this as though she was dumb for not having thought about it. 

"They're made of black onyx, Alexandra, and of fear."

She almost laughed at him. This frail boy must be trying to pull a joke on her. 

"Made of fear?"

"Yes. I know it's weird. But try to cut them off and you'll know."

"Fine, give me scissors."

Without a word, he stepped off the swing and jogged inside, returning seconds later with a small pair of trimming scissors. 

She tried, as he watched, to cut off the buttons, but it was like threading the eye of a needle- every time she thought she had it ready to snap, then closed the scissors and realized it had done nothing. After struggling with it, she looked up at him helplessly, knowing he must be right. 

His only response was a pitying smile.

"What did you do to cut yours off?" She asked hopefully, sure that there was some way to do it.

"I loved."

"What?"

"I loved. It's the only thing that beats fear, or at least that's what I'd always heard. So I tried it and it worked."

"What do you mean?" she questioned. Once again, she was befuddled and sure that this was all an odd dream. 

"I just decided it was worth a shot to love people more. It was funny cause at first my mom thought it was weird. She didn't know what I was doing or why but she just said I was acting differently and she didn't like it- I was a kid, I needed to go have fun and play and not be so serious." 

Things started clicking in her head as he spoke. 

"When I started trying to love more, I just looked around at what I liked about people- even strangers. They help each other, even when it isn't convenient. I like that. They say good things, even when it takes some effort to find a good thing to say (our teacher does that one a lot- have you noticed how she only says good stuff? It makes you feel good, and smart, and like you can do it, even if you said something wrong at first). So then I started doing it. Most people didn't notice or care, but it made me feel better because I wasn't thinking about myself as much anymore. After a few days of it, the buttons just fell off." 

The eyebrow-level fog was all at once melted away.

"I don't know, maybe that wasn't the key to it, but I told Cora the same thing and it made hers fall off too. She decided she didn't like it after her buttons fell off though, I guess cause it was too much work. I think that's why she doesn't talk to me anymore."

Alexandra nodded. It did sound like a lot of work, especially for someone like herself who kept away from people for the most part. 

But this weight in her chest was making it hard to breathe, she was constantly afraid, and she had recognized how tired she was of keeping to herself. Maybe it would be nice to love. Or maybe it would hurt. It sounded like a risk, all the change and involvement with people, and it didn't sound easy. 

"It isn't easy," he said, as if he had read her mind, "and it isn't always fun because it makes you really tired and people don't really love back much. But it's good."

They were still swinging and picking at the rust, and as Alexandra thought, she pumped her legs back and forth, swinging higher and higher, until it made the rickety swingset jump and she was feeling her favorite sensation: the apex of the swing. The moment when the swing reaches the top of its journey and pauses, weightless, suspended in a laughter-silvered space only visited by happy children and relieved adults. It lasts milliseconds, or less, before gravity pulls the swing's occupant back down to reality, but the part Alexandra liked best about this sensation was that even gravity couldn't stop it from recurring. 

She swung, leaving her newfound fears and worries at the bottom of the swingset and revisiting the sacred high place as much and as quickly as she could. He must have known she needed it, or had a mutual love for that weightless sensation, because he let her swing and didn't interrupt her occasional laughter.

On the whim that maybe, possibly, loving people could feel something like this, she slowed herself and then stopped. Twisting her swing to face him, Sir Frail-but-Hopeful, she pushed past the fear before she had time to let it build and spat her words into the warm space between them. 

"I don't remember your name. Or Cora. I never pay attention to anyone so I don't know if I can love but I've got to try because I can't stand this weight in my chest and tightness in my stomach any longer. I don't listen in school so I didn't know that our teacher always said good things. But I'm going to try. I'm going to start here and say thank you. You're my first friend and I am glad you let me be silent sometimes. I'm glad my first friend is someone who knows how to love. That's the best I have and I'm sorry there isn't more and I'm afraid it isn't enough but I'm hoping it might be."

Her words didn't just hang there, as she expected them to, but seemed to waft around her and warm her. For the first time since opening the box, Alexandra felt warm again. 

The boy with hopefulness in his face looked at her and said, "It is enough. And my name is Isaac."

Relief danced around. Warmth existed once again. 

Her parents would be wondering where she was, so Alexandra took the relief and warmth with her as she silently hugged Isaac and walked home. It wouldn't be easy, but it would make life weightless again, so she started, with every step, thinking up ways to love.